Dead Can Dance
by hunterofartemis080
Summary: When a well-known London socialite and restauranteur moves into 221C, Sherlock Holmes is certain he'll scare her away within a week. To his surprise, Melissa Brook is not so easily deterred. What skeletons does this Irish femme fatale have in her closet? Sebastian/OC, MorMor, & Mycroft/OC friendship
1. Inclined to Murder

**A/N: WARNING - this story features quite a regular use of the 'f-word'**

 **Inclined to Murder**

Melissa Brook lounged on her sofa, a glass of water held in the hand hanging off the side, a pen held with the other in front of her. She was twisting the pen, focusing on it quite intently as she did so, as she swirled the water with the other hand. The only thing in the room was the sofa, sat in the center of the room, to allow her to face the window as she lay there.

The room seemed to be at peace, save the loud violin playing streaming from the flat above, though, at the moment, Melissa didn't seem overly bothered. She was far too focused on the task of twirling the pen with her perfectly manicured fingers.

Then, without a hint of any other outward change, she moved her hand and dropped the pen over the back of the sofa, redirecting her attention to the ceiling.

It appeared that she was not ignoring the violin playing as much as she'd been aiming to.

It took a few more seconds before she sat up, swinging her legs and taking a drink of the water.

God, if she was so inclined, she would kill that fucker.

Melissa Brook set the glass on the floor and stood, moving to slip into her heels.

She had business to do.

Grabbing her coat, she moved towards the door just as her phone buzzed with a new text, and she glanced at it, pulling it from her back pocket. It didn't matter that there was no record of the number; she knew exactly who was texting her.

 _You're late. -J_

She sighed.

 _You're early. I'm never late._

 _And I'm never early._

 _You're always early, you just refuse to admit it._

 _Just hurry._

 _Impatient, are you?_

 _Please._

 _Good boy._

She slipped the phone back into her pocket, readjusted the bracelet on her wrist, and left her basement flat. As there always was, a car was waiting on the street for her.

And now, standing at the upper window of the building she'd just left, was the man playing that infernal violin.

~M~

It was not until the next morning that Melissa Brook returned to the flat she owned; dressed in different clothes now, she was still as impeccably neat as ever. She'd just stepped into the building when the man from upstairs was coming down the stairs.

Melissa stopped, smiling at him. "I don't believe we've ever had the pleasure of meeting." She spoke with a specifically Dublin lilt.

"Don't bother." He took another step down. "I can assume your date went well."

She raised her perfectly manicured eyebrows; every bit of her was perfectly manicured, it was almost unbearable. "My date?"

"You left last night dressed differently than you've returned. And you have men's deodorant."

"Unless the laws are different here, I don't believe I would be able to go on a date and do as you're suggesting with my brother."

His eyes widened. "Brother?"

Melissa nodded. "A twin brother, actually."

"I would have said younger."

She raised her eyebrows. "He was actually born a few minutes after me."

"Thought so."

"You guessed."

"I never guess." He gestured loosely towards her bracelet. "Irish for brother. Suggests needy and protective, thus younger."

"And yet you seemed surprised when I stated that I had one."

"I wasn't surprised you had one, I was surprised you'd spent the night with him, but clearly did it regularly enough that you have clothes at his home."

"Oh, these?" Melissa straightened a wrinkle from her skirt. "He maintains them for when a woman stays the night. I had not been planning on spending so long with him but we got…distracted."

"Lie." She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her. "You've always had bags under your eyes. Likely not from malnutrition, since you're clearly someone obsessed with appearances, so late nights. And since you have a twin you're close to, it's not a strange event for you to spend time together, and for you to stay up late together."

Melissa clearly looked surprised at his conclusion. "You are quite a surprising man."

"Surprising?"

"Yes, surprising." She moved towards her flat door. "Off to the morgue?" He looked shocked. "You have a certain glee about you and Mrs. Hudson mentioned you have a fascination with the morgue. I made an assumption." Melissa gave him a little wave. "Enjoy yourself." She turned and entered her room, though she paused the moment before the door closed, pulling out her phone.

 _Home safe? -S_

 _I just left a car you were driving._

 _Aren't I allowed to worry about you?_

 _J would claim you can't._

 _Fuck him._

 _That's incest._

 _Fuck you._

 _Yes, please._

Melissa looked up from her phone, looked over her shoulder, gave her neighbor, who was still looking at her, a wave before she closed the door.

She sighed when she saw the pen that she'd dropped the day before now sat on the back of the sofa.

"Really?"

A man stepped out of her kitchen, with a pleased smirk and a phone in hand. "You told me to fuck you. I have come to obey."

"Not now." She shrugged off her coat. "I just spent the whole night with my brother; I'm not in the mood."

He moved closer until he could wrap his arms around her. "Aw, please?"

She pushed him back. "No, Seb."

"Just a kiss?" He stepped forward again, forcing her back as he placed a hand on her door. "Come on, Melie, please."

"Sebastian," Melissa said, putting her hands against his chest. "No." She pushed him back again, but he just leaned closer. "Don't make me shoot you."

"Wouldn't that alert your neighbors?"

"If you try anything, I'd be happy for them to be alerted. You did break into my flat after all." She pushed again, but that time he did stumble backward, slipping his hands into his pockets. "My brother doesn't have some task for you to busy yourself with?"

"He wanted to ensure you got home safe. I'm supposed to watch you for an hour."

She raised an eyebrow. "And you decided that you should break into my flat?"

"Thought we could have some fun."

"You can get me a drink and then you can get out."

Sebastian frowned. "What happened last night?"

"What do you mean?"

"Melissa."

Melissa sighed, moving past him towards the kitchen to get a glass of water for herself, snatching the pen as she passed the sofa. "He had a lot of questions about my neighbor."

Sebastian grabbed her free hand, turning her to face him again. "Melissa, what did he do?"

She frowned. "He's my brother, Seb, what the fuck do you think he did?" she yanked her hand from his hold. "Don't you dare presume that you're close to me just because we're fucking behind his back. So when I tell you to get out, you get out, no questions asked. Now, get the fuck out." She turned and stalked away, pen already twirling in her hand.

When she returned to the entrance room, Sebastian was nowhere to be found. Melissa sighed, took a drink, and fell back onto her sofa, taking the same pose she had before she'd left the day before.

She didn't always spend her days lying on her sofa, but after the night she'd just had with her brother…she needed to think.

And, thankfully, her neighbor had left, so there was no loud violin from the floor above.

~M~

At some point that night, at a time that would likely be considered the morning of the next day, Melissa Brook exited a privately owned restaurant. As she approached the car waiting out front, she knew the driver was not who she expected. But all she did was readjust her purse so that the small handgun inside was easily accessible.

She slid into the car and immediately relaxed.

Mycroft Holmes sat in the car and she greeted him with a smile. "And how, pray tell, can I help you?"

"Stay away from my brother."

She played offended. "Whatever do you believe I'm going to do to that dear brother of yours? Besides throttle him for playing that violin of his at all hours."

"Be serious."

She smirked. "I had no idea that operating my late mother's restaurant empire was so threatening to the British government." Melissa pulled a pen from somewhere inside her hair, twirling beside her.

"I don't know why you've decided to live in the basement flat at 221, but you will be watched."

"I didn't realize you were so protective of your baby brother, Mr. Holmes. One would almost say you were exhibiting emotion, though, of course, we both know that isn't true." She leaned back. "You know, I've always found it foolish that you do all your deals on your own. You can do so much more behind the scenes with a pretty face to seduce the target and lay the trap." She turned towards the door and opened it, stepping out before turning to look at Mycroft again. "Ask my baby brother."

And then she slammed the door on his face.

The moment she stepped back, her phone buzzed.

 _And who was that? -J_

 _Ice Man._

 _What did he want with you?_

 _Warned me to stay away from his brother._

 _And will you?_

 _Will you?_

 _His car is still there._

Melissa looked up and tapped on the window of the car still in front of her. It didn't roll down, but she knew he was still there. "Shall I call the police on the strange man sitting in a suspicious car outside of my restaurant at strange hours? You have no legal reason to be here, Mycroft Holmes, so fuck off."

She turned and walked back towards the building, calling someone as she walked. "I need a car, now. And don't you dare fuck with me right now, you idiot."

Mycroft's car drove off, but Melissa didn't turn back. She just began to twirl the pen again, pulling out the phone again to text.

 _In case you were curious, it did not go well._

 _What happened?_

 _Didn't agree to the payment._

 _Waste of time._

 _I thought you would enjoy it. Our birthday is in a few months, but it's necessary to start planning now._

 _I guess you're going to have to find me a different present._

 _Have you picked out a present for me yet?_

 _Of course ;)_

 _Don't worry, I'll find one to suffice. I have more than enough time._

 _You'd better._

 _Says the man who gave me a dead cat one year._

 _You were interested in science!_

 _And allergic to cats._

 _A technicality._

 _I was sent to the hospital._

 _An exciting birthday._

Melissa sighed, looking up from her phone at a sound in front of her. The restaurant should have closed the moment she'd left, with any employees she'd forced to remain until then leaving from the back. No one was meant to be there, not at that hour.

She flicked the pen around her fingers as she stepped forward, the other hand moving to call Sebastian again since he was already later than he should have been.

There was a gunshot and Melissa twisted, ducking as she did so.

The bullet nearly touched her arm, so close that she could feel the air current around it and smell the gunpowder.

She went to the ground, pulling out her handgun as she did so and pointing it in the direction of the gunshot.

It was from across the street and, given the trajectory, someone on street level.

There was a flash and she knew they were in the building.

Slowly, Melissa walked forwards, not caring about the road she was crossing, until she stood before the office building, peering through the dark windows. She'd dropped her phone when she'd ducked, but Sebastian would already be on his way.

There was another glint of movement and Melissa fired.

Someone groaned from the pain, but another sound from the other side of the building made her turn. As she did so, she felt someone press a gun against her head from behind, wrapping an arm around her neck as they did so.

"Drop the weapon," the person holding her said, their accent Russian. "Now."

Melissa twisted, aiming to throw them off balance, but the person moved with her, pushing her forward so that she had to brace herself to keep from smashing her face open. They didn't stop there; they quickly moved so that they were straddling her, one hand on the arm with the handgun and the other pressing the gun to her head again.

Simply from the force alone, she couldn't breathe.

They used the gun to press her face into the pavement. "Stay still, and you will not be harmed."

"Yeah," she mumbled against the gravel, trying to keep herself from moving her face too much, "don't fuck with me like that."

There was the sound of the person beginning to speak again, but they were very obviously shut up by a gunshot to the head. In the few moments before the body fell, Melissa turned to redirect the fall to the side so that she wasn't crushed. The person ended up face first on the pavement and she stood, not even blinking before firing five bullets into their back.

"Overkill much?" Sebastian said, striding forward with his own gun hanging loosely by his side, finger casually on the trigger. "He was shot in the head."

Melissa fired another shot, and Sebastian touched her arm. She jerked him away, pointing the gun at him too. "You are not allowed to touch me."

He raised his hands, knowing he couldn't dare to point a weapon at her. "Melissa…"

She sighed, letting her hand fall. "Fuck you." Melissa walked back across the street towards the car that had arrived, ignoring the fact there was a bullet hole through one of the windows. Sebastian followed her without a word, sliding into the driver's seat as she lounged in the back.

"You were late."

"I thought you would take longer."

"Or you were fucking someone."

"I can assure you that that is not the case."

Melissa leaned forward, pressing her hands against her face. "I need a pen." Sebastian handed one to her and she fell backward, beginning to twist it. "Ensure my brother knows what happened. I want those responsible punished."

"Does that include me?"

She looked through her hands to the mirror, meeting Sebastian's eyes through it. "You were late." His hands tensed on the steering wheel. "I was just nearly shot in the head, Moran," his knuckles whitened, "I'm not going to be very lenient. Ensure that my brother knows what happened."

Sebastian tossed a phone back to her. "Tell him yourself."

She put up a 'v' sign and leaned back.

 _One of your clients pressed a gun to my head. -M_

 _Who?_

 _I didn't see their face. But they were Russian._

 _Yes, I only have one Russian client._

 _Don't mock me. I was almost shot._

 _Your reflexes are slowing._

 _And your favorite sniper was late._

 _Really?_

 _Are you accusing me of lying?_

 _Testy tonight, aren't you?_

 _Fuck you._

 _I'll deal with Sebastian, don't worry._

 _Good._

Melissa didn't look up before she spoke to Sebastian again. "Did you contact one of my brother's men to collect the body?"

"Of course."

 _And I will find who dared to attack you._

 _Thank you, brother dearest._

 _Only for you, my sweet sister._

Melissa looked up from the phone, dropped it to her lap, and closed her eyes, resting a hand on her brow as she took a breath and began to twirl the pen.

She wanted to shoot something.

~M~

Melissa Brook was just leaving her flat, eyes on her phone, when she nearly collided with a new man looking around the hall. She didn't drop her phone, her grip tightening, and looked up at the new arrival.

And it shocked her that she recognized him.

For a few moments, she lost control of her reactions and her mouth opened, eyes wide. The man looked as though he was worried he'd terribly frightened her, and her neighbor, pausing on the stairs, seemed equally confused.

"Hey," the new arrival said, and Melissa collected herself again, taking a step back from him. "I didn't see you…"

"No, it's my fault." She waved the phone. "Too lost in my texts, stopped paying attention."

He shrugged. "Happens to the best of us."

Melissa smiled, but even this man could tell it was slightly strained. "How long have you been back from Afghanistan?"

The man's eyes widened, and he groaned. "Another one?"

She frowned. "What?"

"He did that to me earlier!" the man gestured up at Sherlock. "Am I just a walking ad for recently returned soldier?"

Melissa raised her eyebrows. "You fought with my brother."

The man's eyes widened, as did Sherlock's. "Who was your brother?"

"Colonel Seamus Brook." She looked up at Sherlock. "Not my twin, by the way, Seamus is younger."

"Seamus?" the man asked. "Irish accent? Bit short?" She nodded. "He was a good lad. How is he?"

"Coping. Therapist, you know, helping him adjust." She laughed. "He'll love to know that I saw you. Are you planning on living with Sherlock?"

"I've just come to look at the flat. Do you live here?"

She pointed behind her, back towards her flat. "221C. What a coincidence. But I don't want to keep you any longer; hopefully, you find the flat to your liking." Melissa moved to walk past him, John Watson stepping out of her way. "A warning; he plays the violin at all hours. Be prepared." With a final smile, she left, though she did pause on the doorstep to send a few texts, as she tended to.

 _I saw John Watson._

 _The doctor Seamus mentioned? - J_

 _Yes._

 _How…interesting._

 _Shall I tell Seamus?_

 _I'll leave you to decide that. You were always closest to him._

 _Compared to you, a stranger was close with him._

 _You're very welcome for the advice, sweet sister._

Melissa looked up just as a man stepped out of police car sitting in front of the building, lights flashing. She raised her eyebrows. "Anything the matter, officer?"

He looked shocked to see her. "No, nothing serious. Just here to see your…neighbor?"

She chuckled. "I live in the basement flat. Just arrived a few days ago." She hurried down the stairs. "I hope everything goes well, officer." The cab she ordered pulled up. "Terrible things, those suicides, isn't it?" She grinned and, making a call, slid into the cab.

 **A/N: Hello and welcome to _Dead Can Dance_ , my new story in the Sherlock universe. ****My goal will be to upload this story on a weekly basis, as I have it almost completely written out. I hope you enjoy Melissa; she's been quite a joy to inhabit.**

 **I have a polyvore already done for her, the link to which can be found on my portfolio. Her face-claim** **is Eva Green.**


	2. Brothers, Tea, and Payback

**Brothers, Tea, and Payback**

The phone call, which Melissa took in very angry Russian, ended just as they arrived at another restaurant that was part of her mother's restaurant 'empire'. The man waiting in front of it, who bore a striking resemblance, if only a lighter shade of hair and about five years younger, looked up in surprise at her tone. She held up a finger, spending another few seconds texting, before looking up and smiling.

"So sorry, Seamus. Didn't think it would take so long." She sighed, drawing a pen from behind her ear and twisting it. "How have you been?"

He shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. "Alright."

"That therapist helping?" he nodded. "And how's the flat?" Melissa led the way into the restaurant.

"You know, lonely. Thinking of finding a flatmate."

She nodded, her phone going off again. "Have anyone in mind?"

"A few people from work. Still considering it, though."

"If you need any money…"

"No, it's more just having someone to talk to." Melissa nodded but didn't say anything as she glanced down at the phone again. "You can answer that if you need to."

"No, it's fine, it's nothing important." She turned the phone over but left it on the table. "Just can't shut Jim off."

Seamus chuckled and picked up the fork, messing with some of the food on his plate. "How is he? I haven't seen him in a long time."

"You know…" she fiddled with the pen, resting her elbow on the table. "He's being Jim." She took a drink of water. "I saw John Watson today."

Seamus's eyes widened. "Really? Where?"

"He might move into the flat above mine. He remembered you."

"How is he?"

"Limping." Seamus frowned. "But I believe it's psychosomatic since he forgot about it when I accidentally ran into him as I left to meet you. So nothing to worry about." She threw the pen in the air to twist it, catching it without looking. "Would you like me to put you in touch?"

"No, it's fine." Melissa's phone made another sound. "You really can get that if you need to."

"Jim can be patient for once." Of course, the sound did indicate someone else had contacted her, but there was no need for Melissa to share that detail with her little brother. "You mentioned work. How has that been?"

Unlike his two elder siblings, Seamus had not decided to enter the fruitful world of 'restaurant management' or 'exploring the world'. He was a soldier turned station master who occasionally had to deal with people recognizing his name as connecting to her restaurants.

Melissa was just about to concoct another question when, her gaze flickering over his shoulder, she saw Sebastian lounging at one of the tables. The man was nursing a drink, despite it being midday, and fixing Melissa with a stare he normally reserved for more private moments.

"If you'll excuse me," Melissa said, smiling at her little brother, "I'm afraid I need the loo. Won't be a minute."

Seamus nodded. "Of course."

She took her phone when she stood – in no world was Melissa Brook leaving her phone unattended, even if her brother was sitting at the table – and made her way towards where Sebastian was sitting. He didn't move as she walked, but his eyes followed her until she paused beside him.

"What are you doing here?" If Jim had set the man to watch her while she met their brother, she was going to shoot him.

Melissa had yet to shoot someone. She really did need to find a release for this frustration.

"Waiting for my lunch."

"Follow me." Melissa walked on, moving to the private room she knew to be empty that day. She received word of anyone who reserved it and, that day, it was blessedly empty.

Melissa needed a release and one had helpfully revealed itself.

The room had a long table in the center and she'd only just paused at the end when she felt Sebastian press against her, pushing her against the table. One of his hands was on the table, but the other was on her waist, his chin on her shoulder, his breath against her skin.

He was warm and hard and strong and Melissa wanted him.

It wouldn't be quite so effective as shooting someone, but it would help her hold out until her brother could secure someone suitable.

Likely, whoever had ordered the attack on her in the first place. Jim would keep them alive for her.

However, a thought occurred to her just as Sebastian started to kiss her neck. "Did Jim tell you to fuck me?" Her brother may not know of their previous entanglements, but Melissa didn't doubt him to make assumptions.

He stilled. "Why would you ask me that, Melie?"

"You knew I was meeting with Seamus."

"What if I didn't care?" He resumed his task, but Melissa decided that she was no longer in the mood for this distraction.

If anything, this was making her want to shoot someone more.

"Stop, Sebastian." He stilled, though he was still pressed against her, his far more considerable strength keeping her from being able to move away. "Did he or did he not tell you to?"

"Not in so many words."

"Get off me." For his credit, Sebastian did step away instantly, letting Melissa spin to face him. "And get out of my face."

"Melissa..."

"Now, Moran. Or need I remind you that you have to obey my orders just as much as you must obey my brother's." Her phone made another sound, Jim's that time. And that time she looked at it.

 _Seamus is getting lonely._

 _Don't you ever fucking tell Moran to fuck me again._

Melissa was very tempted to throw the phone away just to break something, but she was conscious enough to stop herself.

"Fuck off, Moran," she told him. "Or I will shoot you with your own gun." He took a step back. "If you actually want to make me feel better about being shot at, find me someone to shoot. Preferably, multiple times." It was her turn to step forwards then. "If you'd like, we can make it you."

"Wouldn't you miss my pretty face?"

"Oh, I would avoid your face." She brought one of her heels down onto his foot, the man just managing to keep a straight face against the pain. "But your balls would do." After grinding her heel in a bit more, Melissa strode past him, adjusting her hair just so to hide the marks he would have made on her neck.

Seamus, the innocent man he was, was waiting exactly where Melissa had left him.

Sometimes, she was jealous of their little brother. He'd gone to war and come back to play with trains, for that was how she'd always seen it. Somehow, he'd managed to avoid all the strangeness and brilliance that had lodged themselves in the twins' heads.

Somehow, he'd come out normal.

If normal existed anymore. Melissa liked to think it did.

After all, she knew she was above normal. She knew she was better.

She was Melissa Brook, the face of a criminal empire.

And she lived beneath a consulting detective who was none-the-wiser.

She was everything.

~M~

After a day of various activities that would have had Seamus running for the hills and refuting any claim of relation, Melissa Brook arrived at Baker Street to find one particular cab waiting out front. The driver in question had just stepped out of the door when he spotted her.

Melissa held a finger to her lips as she moved past him. She'd met the man in person once before in order to ensure he wouldn't be a liability, and then she'd passed him off to her brother, who'd made him a criminal.

Who'd sculpted a serial killer who hid his crimes as suicides and sent money to his children out of a dying man with a twisted mind.

Who'd warned him about a particular man.

It appeared that he'd decided to take up her brother's challenge.

Melissa stepped inside just as Sherlock Holmes reached the bottom of his stairs, eyes on the cab and the man out front. "Enjoy your ride."

Sherlock said nothing. Melissa wondered if he'd even heard her.

The next day, when Melissa had just emerged from the shower, she received a text from her brother.

 _Cabbie dead. Shot by a soldier. Sherlock lives. –J_

 _A pity. Serial suicides had a nice ring to it._

She paused, looking up to the flat above.

Sherlock Holmes was certainly going to be interesting.

 _I've gotten you a present._

That made Melissa smile.

Finally.

~M~

The warehouse that her brother had acquired for this event was one Melissa knew to be part of the larger plan, the little bit she knew of, anyways. Part of her was touched that her brother had decided to allow her – for, though Melissa was the face and the public liaison, her brother was still the plotter and the showman – to use it for this task.

She found him waiting for her himself, lounging against one of the inner walls. He pushed himself straight once she'd stepped up. This would have gained him his natural two-inch height superiority, but Melissa's heels more than made up for it. "Sweet sister," he grinned.

"Brother dearest." She flexed her fingers. Normally, they'd be occupied by a pen, but she had no need to expend that excess energy today. "Who is it?"

"One of the men involved in the terrible event. His employers sacrificed him in order to maintain our partnership." He stepped back, gesturing at the door he'd been leaning next to. "I hope it's suitable."

Melissa made for the door, but she paused. "This does not completely make up for Moran, you know."

He pouted. "I thought you would enjoy it."

"I don't enjoy sharing your sniper."

"Pity. He's quite talented."

She entered the room without another word, her brother waiting a moment before joining.

The present was sitting in the center, bound and gagged. A gun sat before him, just out of reach for him to even consider attempting to free himself. Instead, Melissa took it, testing the weight.

Without a word, Melissa shot him in the right foot. And then the left. Then each kneecap. Then each shoulder. Then the gut. And then anywhere she felt.

It didn't even matter when he died. His body still received the bullet, blood still stained the floor. Gunpowder still tinged the air.

For what felt like the first in a long time, Melissa lived.

She only stopped firing when she felt a hand on her shoulder, and it was another moment before she realized that the gun had emptied a bit before. The man was dead, barely recognizable from the wounds.

"Thank you," she breathed, feeling her hands still.

"Was that enough?"

"I believe so." Melissa dropped the gun. "Why did you tell Moran to do it?"

"I believed it best that you exhaust your stresses with someone trusted."

Melissa didn't visibly settle, but she was relieved. Jim didn't often lie to her. He'd tried once and the result had not been good for him. "For future reference, if I desire to exhaust myself in that manner, I am fully capable of finding someone myself."

"Noted."

She looked down at her shoes, taking a step back just as the man's blood almost touched them. "Do you require anything from me?"

Jim moved forward more, sliding his hand so that it was around her shoulders. "There have been developments."

"Do tell."

The twins turned in unison, walking away from the body without a care. Where little Seamus was normal, the twins were delectably broken.

It was intoxicating.

~M~

When Melissa next saw her upstairs neighbor, she did not look as put together as she normally did. Traditionally, she prided herself on appearing suitable no matter whom she saw, dressing to the point that she turned heads, screamed wealth.

Screamed power and interest and drew the curious and the sick who'd heard the whispers of what her twin could help them do.

Of course, she did give off that aura no matter what she wore, but the effect was diminished when she didn't dress to match it.

She lay on the couch, pen in hand. The action did nothing to still her mind – Melissa rarely wished to dull her senses, especially with the variety of clients her brother entertained – but she always needed to do something. Melissa was rarely still and twisting a pen was the easiest method of satisfying that urge.

There was a knock, which shocked her enough that she sat bolt upright. Her gun lay on the ground beside her and it was in her hand instantly, pointed at the door. It was another second before the silhouette registered as one Sherlock Holmes. She considered pretending not to be there, but the consulting detective could, no doubt, see her silhouette as easily as she could see his.

She kept the gun in hand as she opened the door, holding it loosely by her side but making the point to hold it oddly, as though she didn't quite know how to use it. "Hello, neighbor."

Sherlock took in her appearance with a barely perceptible look. It was slower than his brother's, but Melissa had always held the opinion that Mycroft Holmes was the smarter of the two.

The luck of older siblings, in her opinion.

It was slightly amusing how fitting the groups of siblings were when paired together.

Her and Mycroft.

Jim and Sherlock.

Seamus and Lina.

Almost like destiny.

"What can I help you with?"

"You have a gun."

Melissa nodded. "A woman living alone in London must have ways to protect herself."

"I would have thought the owner of a restaurant empire would be able to employ protection."

She grinned. "You looked me up!" Even if she and Sherlock hadn't officially exchanged names, John knowing Seamus would give the man enough of an in to learn her last name and, from there, her first.

"Melissa Brook. Well-known participant of the London social scene. Inheritor of her mother's restaurant empire upon the woman's death. Unknown father. Twin sister of Jim Brook, occupation and whereabouts unknown, and older sister of Seamus Brook, Colonel turned stationmaster."

"Very good." Melissa leaned more against her door. She was quite conscious of how much her current attire revealed, a fact which, ever-so-slightly, seemed to fluster the detective. "Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective. Younger brother of Mycroft Holmes, minor British government official, and older brother of Evelina Holmes, street musician." She paused. "Now that we've established that we both looked each other up, why don't we declare a neighborly truce?"

Sherlock did not seem open to the idea. "John has requested that I ask if you'd be willing to come up for tea tomorrow."

"And why could John not request this himself?"

"He has work."

Her phone went off. "I'd be happy to have tea with the pair of you. Two o'clock?"

Sherlock gave a curt nod and stepped back, leaving Melissa to close the door. She did so glancing at her phone.

 _Peek-a-boo._

Melissa barely had time to turn before she felt Sebastian move towards her. She did, however, manage to get the gun up and pressed against his forehead before he could even dream of getting close enough to touch her. "What the fuck are you doing here?" she hissed, not daring to speak too loud until she was certain Sherlock was beyond hearing distance.

"I wanted to apologize." He held up both hands. "I just wanted to talk."

"You never just want to talk." She didn't move the gun. "He is going to notice eventually, you know. And I'm not the one he's going to shoot."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "If he ordered me to satisfy you without knowing, I don't think he'd mind if I did the same without him ordering."

"You really think he likes to share?" Sebastian stilled. "What is my brother like in bed? I've never wanted to know more than I do in this moment."

"We don't..."

"Jim doesn't lie to me." Melissa forced Sebastian back, using the gun to push him until he hit the opposite wall. She switched the gun to being under his chin, putting a hand against the wall. Without heels, she was considerably shorter than him and Melissa did wonder how long it would take for him to decide he wanted to flip the power of the situation. "How long have you been fucking us both?"

"Melissa..."

"Who do you like more?"

"Let me explain."

"Do tell."

"It was Jim who approached me. It was only a few tim-"

She cut him off. "Lie."

"I'm not lying, Melissa."

"How many times?"

He frowned. "Do you really think I counted? For either of you?"

Melissa smirked. "No, but one can hope." She didn't step back, though she did lessen the gun's pressure slightly. "There aren't many things Jim and I can be competitive over. Our interests are normally quite varied."

Slowly, Sebastian's expression shifted too, the entire situation softening. In an instant, he'd grabbed her arms and twisted, pushing her back against the wall and taking the gun from her hand. He was just as forceful as she had been, putting the gun in exactly the same place. "Am I meant to be touched that you two both find me delectable?"

Melissa's turn to lift her eyebrow. "Please don't tell me that Jim said that."

Sebastian pressed closer, seeming to enjoy the way her breath hitched unconsciously, reflexes kicking in. "Have I apologized suitably?"

"I told you that you never just want to talk." That time, Melissa kissed Sebastian.

She let herself get lost in him because she could.

Because it felt nice.

And, sometimes, Melissa let herself do that sort of thing.

~M~

The next day, Melissa was dressed far more suitably when she ascended the stairs to visit her neighbors for tea. They left their door open and Melissa was not shocked by the mess she encountered. A little disgusted, but not shocked.

This was Sherlock Holmes, after all. She couldn't see him caring for the cleanliness of his flat.

"Sorry for the mess," John called from the kitchen. "You can take a seat, I'll be out shortly." It appeared that a small area had been cleansed from the sofa that sat underneath the bullet punctured wallpaper and smiley face. "How do you take your tea?"

"Black, thank you." Melissa extracted her pen without thinking, turning it as she took in the flat. It was about the same size as her own, though this one had more than one nice window. "You have a lovely flat."

John emerged with two cups in hand. "It's mostly Sherlock's things." He handed her a cup and took a seat at a chair he'd pulled out from the desk. "He said he'd be coming back soon."

"Don't worry." Melissa took a sip of the tea. "I'm certain you're far more pleasant company." John laughed to himself at that. "So, what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a doctor."

"How nice." Melissa already knew that. She already knew everything about the two men who lived above her. Jim was quite thorough with his research, though he did keep mumbling something about a future plan to learn some of Sherlock's darker secrets. He'd yet to share it with Melissa, but that was normal behavior for him. If she bothered to ask, he'd tell her, but she trusted him enough not to. "I'm surprised you didn't ask me out for drinks." John nearly choked on the gulp he'd just taken. "Only teasing, John."

He gave a nervous laugh for that.

"I will say, I never knew that Seamus had a sister."

"We didn't have the best relationship when he went away. It's only been since he's returned that I've been able to heal any rifts that'd grown." She smiled. "He speaks very highly of you, you know. Apparently, you practically brought him back to life."

"Oh, he's exaggerating."

The rest of their conversation – lacking Sherlock, as Melissa had guessed – moved smoothly. It'd been some time since Melissa had spoken to someone who was both so less intelligent and so less wealthy than her, but she'd had enough practice that the dumbing down wasn't obvious. John seemed to quite enjoy the conversation, though Melissa did intentionally divert any sexual intentions she sensed, and she always sensed them.

Though, she did end up giving John Seamus's number out of sisterly compassion, despite what her brother had said. She'd always been under the impression that it was necessary her brother had people to speak to who shared his situation.

It was what she felt had gone wrong with Lina, Sherlock's older sister. The woman had never had anyone else.

But she didn't want Seamus to fall victim to anything similar.

She was a far more conscious sibling than the Holmes's.

 **A/N: We finally meet Jim and Seamus (whom I've based off of Colonel James Moriarty from the original books, who was a station master)! How exciting :)**

 **The Evelina, or Lina, mentioned here is the main character of my second Sherlock fanfiction, Buy Me Some Roses, that I am currently working on. The two stories haven't ended up existing in the same universe, but the characters do exist in both. They just don't end up the same way.**


	3. Encounters Most Foul

**Encounters Most Foul**

When Melissa learned of the trouble that Sherlock and John managed to get in after receiving word of mysterious in-office tagging by one of Sherlock's old school mates, she actually sighed out loud. Another one of Jim's customers dead, though this one would likely be instantly replaced by whomever Jim decided was most loyal and least suspicious.

Of course, she knew that this entire affair would simply tantalize her brother more. If she was being honest, she had never understood her brother's obsession with the detective. It had existed for almost as long as she could remember, but only recently had he decided to concoct a plan specific to the man. She didn't know much of the plan's specifics – Jim was the only one who knew the entire thing. He would tell her bits as she needed to know them.

After all, it was better if she didn't know many of the specifics surrounding her brother's criminal exploits. It was necessary that she maintained a proper public image – if anyone asked, her twin brother was traveling the world. Neither officially attached their name to any of the less legal exploits, but it was Jim's name that held together the criminal underworld.

Jim Moriarty was the spider who held the strings. Melissa Brook was simply the trap.

And Seamus was the innocent who didn't need to know anything about his siblings' exploits.

She'd just left Baker Street when she noticed a particular car sitting out front. Melissa slid inside as she put away her phone, smiling at the man inside.

Her particular favorite. Mycroft Holmes.

"Bit cocky, waiting outside your brother's flat for me."

"Do you know anything about Andrew West?"

"Is he a supplier of high-quality food?"

Mycroft shot her a look. "Do you?"

"You know, I've never heard you use my name. Or say please." She glanced back out the window. "Isn't he going to wonder why the car is still here?"

"Drive," he ordered.

"Do you order people around in bed too?"

He looked at her again. "You're in a mood."

"I've a meeting today with a mutual acquaintance that I'm looking forward to." She extracted a pen from her purse. "Attempting to get out all of my nervous energy now."

"You get nervous?"

"I'm human, after all." But both of them smirked at that, Melissa more.

This was only the second time that she and Mycroft had had one of these car conversations, but they'd met and spoken multiple times before at various functions. Never extensive conversations, but enough that each had a suitable grasp on the other.

"Now, please, or I'm not telling you anything about this Andrew West I may or may not know."

"Tell me if you know Andrew West. Please."

Melissa leaned back. "I know he's part of the Bruce-Partington missile project. Why do you ask?"

"He's missing."

"How convenient that your little brother is a detective. From what I understand, he's quite bored recently. Could enjoy a bit of fun."

"I don't need you to tell me what my brother is like."

Melissa chuckled. "Literal big brother then, are you?"

"Do you know anything else about West?"

She thought for a moment. Or, at least, pretended to be thinking. "He has a fiancée. Lucy something. Any other questions?"

"No."

Melissa smiled. "Then can you bring me to where I'm meeting our acquaintance? It'd be ever so kind."

Mycroft gave a curt nod and Melissa detailed the instructions. She couldn't see much traffic out the window, so it wouldn't take long to reach the restaurant she'd chosen for that particular encounter.

"Just a note," she said, still looking out the window, "I'd recommend you wait until tomorrow to go to your brother for help."

"Wha-"

"Nothing to 221." Melissa glanced at him. "But Baker Street will be quite explosive later today. Just a friendly recommendation."

"Friendly?"

"I quite like you, Mycroft Holmes. I'd prefer it if you weren't blown to smithereens." Before Mycroft could say anything, the car pulled to a stop. Melissa exited the car, though she paused before closing the door. "I do mean that. You're my favorite." With a grin, she left him.

And immediately rolled her shoulders. She had to entertain him. She had to keep him happy. She was lucky that these occasional meetings were all that Charles Augustus Magnussen required of her.

In a way, she did revere him. He was the extreme of what she was meant to be. The keeper of secrets, the knower of forbidden things. The man who could get people to do whatever he wanted. In an ideal world, that was precisely what Melissa was.

Even though she was successful as the pretty face for her brother's empire, there were times when she wanted to be more. When she wanted to be a Magnussen.

Perhaps the man sensed that. Sensed the reverence that tended to be swallowed up by the other feelings he aroused.

Melissa summoned the sick and twisted, Magnussen released it.

The man was waiting for her, watching her approach. He'd told her, once, some of what he knew of her.

 _Melissa Anabel Brook_

 _Restaurateur_

 _Porn preference: BDSM, switch_

 _Finances: unknown (see file)_

 _Brothers: Jim(James) Moriarty, Seamus Brook (see file)_

But not the pressure points. Apparently, that was far too sensitive information to be so easily given over.

"Hello Magnussen," Melissa said, smiling. She supposed it was an honor that he came to her restaurant instead of her home, though their meetings were never meant for his blackmail of her. Simply for an exchange of information.

"Melissa. You've moved."

"I wanted a change of location."

"An interesting choice."

"I like his brother."

Magnussen smirked. "He is quite amusing."

"That is certainly an accurate statement."

~M~

Mycroft watched Melissa Brook leave his car. For someone like him, she was the rare example of someone who wasn't a goldfish.

He'd never known quite what to think of her. They'd first met about ten years previously when she'd first taken over her mother's restaurant empire and his own political career was beginning. For the longest time, she'd been nothing remarkable, just a severely wealthy woman with a series of severely wealthy friends who would get her invited to whatever gala or dinner she wanted, some of which he'd also attend. They'd never conversed, though he did find her watching him sometimes.

It was only when the name 'Moriarty' started entering the play that she earned any sort of notice. Both she and her twin had taken care to keep the restaurant and family reputation out of any of his exploits, but one day someone she'd connected to her brother's empire confessed her identity in a desperate attempt to save their own skin.

He'd confronted her about it at one of the parties and she'd answered, with a few code words, that she was indeed the twin sister of Moriarty.

Once an image of the man surfaced, that fact was obvious.

He never knew if her brother had authorized her admission of her identity – he'd long ago had the sense that Moriarty was the one truly in charge. No one else, even within his own government, knew of her real identity. But she, and her brother, were too valuable to attempt to take down – not that there was anything to take them down with – though it pained him to admit it.

The government, and the world, knew her to be a popular socialite, whose restaurants could be used for any sort of underground deal, conversation, or gathering they wanted without anyone batting an eye, who could sneak someone in and out without the public being any the wiser.

He'd chosen to keep her identity secret as much as he could. When he was desperate, when there was no one else to turn to, when he needed something quick, she was there.

He wasn't proud when he had to turn to her, but he did it.

After all, Melissa was clever. She wasn't a goldfish, certainly, and she wasn't her brother, but she was above his. Or, at least, she could put on such a good face that it fooled even him.

Part of him wanted to think it was the later. But he knew it wasn't true. Melissa Brook was smart. She was a genius.

She had to be, maintaining the various identities that she did.

At least, she had to be incredibly self-confident and more than a tad insane. And she was both.

~M~

Conveniently, Melissa did not return to her flat for the rest of the day. When she did, she walked up from the opposite direction as one particular man.

"Gas leak, apparently," she told Mycroft Holmes, smiling at him. "Terrible accident. Aren't you glad I like you?" They met on the doorstep, a police officer standing there. "I live here, he's visiting." The man nodded, stepping aside, and Melissa opened the door for them both. "Oh, I meant to ask you," she turned to face Mycroft, "how are the Korean elections going?"

His jaw tensed.

"Good luck with West." She gave him a small wave, turning towards her flat.

Sherlock himself appeared at the stairs a second later. "Mycroft." His gaze moved to Melissa.

"I had no idea your new neighbor was Ms. Brook," Mycroft told his brother, still watching her as she paused and turned back.

"You know her?"

"Her restaurants are quite accommodating." Melissa gave him a nod for that before vanishing inside her own flat. Mycroft's comment had Sherlock smirking.

When she heard him descending a few minutes later, Melissa stepped into her doorway again. "Did he take the case?" Mycroft gave her a look. "Not his best work." She nodded up, referring to tuneless violin playing that Sherlock had taken up as Mycroft let his flat. "You always look so dour when we talk outside of parties and dinners, Mycroft. Don't you like my company?"

"How was our mutual acquaintance?"

"Tolerable." She nodded back into her flat. "Come in for tea?"

Mycroft just left, but Melissa's phone went off.

 _Shoes. – J_

Melissa had to restrain her laughter. Carl Powers.

~M~

In the end, the shoes were left by Sebastian in the main room of Melissa's flat for Sherlock to find. She was conveniently absent when the shoes that turned out not to be bombs were discovered. Part of her wished she'd been there, especially once the owner's identity was determined.

Carl Powers may have been her brother's kill, but she'd helped him acquire the poison to do it.

One of their first real tastes of blood, though Jim had taken to it more, especially the subtle manner in which it had occurred. Melissa had always found that she preferred the more violent methods of death, which meant she got to kill less out of the pair of them.

Made her treasure it all the more when she did.

Her brother's plot progressed quickly. Within three days of the Baker Street explosion, he was standing opposite Sherlock in a swimming pool with John Watson wearing a bomb between them. All rather exciting.

Melissa was above them all, watching, with Sebastian and a few other snipers in Jim's employ.

"I gave you my number. I thought you might call." Her brother stepped into the open. "Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket..." Sherlock extracted a gun "...or are you just pleased to see me?"

Sherlock aimed the pistol at Jim. "Both."

Jim stopped walking, standing across the pool from the detective and his friend. "Jim Moriarty. Hi!" What a surprise it must be for Sherlock, to see the man he'd thought was Molly Hooper's secretly gay boyfriend was actually the spider himself. "Jim? Jim from the hospital?" he began to walk closer. "Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point." The two other men exchanged looks. There was a rifle pointed at John, after all, held by Sebastian himself. "Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty." Melissa smirked at that. "I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see..." he nodded "like you."

"Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister?" Sherlock mumbled, Jim starting to walk forward again with a flash of a grin. "Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"

He stopped walking again. "Just so."

"Consulting criminal." Sherlock's voice lowered. "Brilliant."

That time Jim grinned wider. "Isn't it? No one ever gets to me, and no one ever will."

Sherlock cocked the pistol. "I did."

"You've come the closest. Now you're in my way." It wasn't normal for Melissa to be the one secretly watching, but Jim had wanted to do this. Jim had wanted to face him, to taunt him.

Jim had wanted to leave her as his basement neighbor, playing with him.

"Thank you."

Jim scoffed. "Didn't mean it as a compliment."

"Yes you did."

He shrugged again. "Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting's over, Sherlock..." he pitched his voice. "Daddy's had enough now!" he began to move closer again. "I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play." It did amuse Melissa how little Sherlock could keep focused on her brother because of John's presence. "So take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off." He smiled. "Although I have loved this...this little game of ours." He put on a London accent for a sentence. "Playing Jim from IT. Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

"People have died."

"That's what people DO!" her brother screamed the last word, loud enough that even Melissa jumped, even if she'd expected it.

"I will stop you."

Jim shook his head. "No you won't."

Sherlock glanced at John again. "You all right?"

But John said nothing. Jim moved forward, coming to his side. "You can talk, Johnny-boy. Go ahead."

John met Sherlock's gaze and nodded, leading Sherlock to take out the memory stick and hold it out. West's memory stick. "Take it."

"Huh?" Jim frowned at it. "Oh! That!" he strode forward and took it. "The missile plans!" he kissed it, looking down. "Boring! I could have got them anywhere." He tossed the memory stick into the pool.

John took the chance to run forward and slam into Jim, wrapping himself around Melissa's brother. She grabbed Sebastian's shoulder. "Sherlock, run!"

Jim just laughed. "Good! Very good."

Sherlock had yet to move, pistol still aimed at Jim. "If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up," John hissed.

"Isn't he sweet?" Jim didn't sound worried, but Melissa had never known him to. "I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets." John pulled him even closer and Jim scowled at him from the force. "They're so touchingly loyal. But, oops!" He glanced at John before returning to Sherlock. "You've rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson." Melissa didn't relax, even as she knew that the message had gotten through to aim a sniper at Sherlock's head. "Gotcha!" Jim laughed as John stepped back, raising his arms, and straightened his suit. "Westwood!" he lowered his hands. "D'you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?"

"Oh, let me guess. I get killed."

"Kill you?" Jim grimaced. "No, no, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway someday. I don't wanna rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No, no, no, no, no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you." He looked Sherlock up and down, turning his words into a snarl. "I'll burn the heart out of you."

"I've been reliably informed that I don't have one."

"But we both know that's not quite true." A pause, where Jim looked up towards where Melissa was standing, meeting her eyes for that moment. "Well, I'd better be off." He turned to look behind him for a moment. "Well, so nice to have had a proper chat."

Sherlock raised his pistol higher, aiming it more at Jim's head. "What if I was to shoot you now...right now?"

"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." He opened his mouth and eyes wide, before grinning. "Cause I'd be surprised, Sherlock; really I would. And just a teensy bit disappointed. And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long." He turned to walk away. "Ciao, Sherlock Holmes." He moved towards the door that, previously, John himself had entered through.

Sherlock stepped forward to keep him in his sights. "Catch...you...later."

"No you won't!" the door closed behind Jim, all the sniper dots leaving the pair of men below.

 _Enjoy the show? – J_

Melissa sighed. _John is a very brave man._

 _He'd be a fun pet._

She knelt down to be closer to Sebastian's height, the man not standing yet. "Was he convincing as Jim from IT?"

"I didn't see him."

"Pity. Perhaps you'll be able to get him to dress up like him again. See how convincing the underwear really is." She dragged a nail across his jaw before standing again, knowing that her brother was going to be returning shortly.

She was not mistaken.

However, before she could witness the sight before her, her own phone buzzed with a call. "Yes?" Melissa listened for a moment. "This is she." Another moment of listening, and then her eyes went wide. "Give me a moment. I'll transfer you to him." She kept her gaze locked on Jim, though he was in the process of a staring contest with the consulting detective.

Normally, she wouldn't dare to do this. But this call...

Both John and Sherlock looked around in confusion as her particular ringtone went off. She called so little, preferring to text him, that he'd long ago set a joke one for her on whichever phone he was currently using. Now, he just sighed. "D'you mind if I get that?"

"No, no, please," Sherlock nodded. "You've got the rest of your life."

Jim answered his phone. "Hello?"

"A dominatrix has an offer." He glanced up at her. "Transferring now." Melissa lowered her phone, exchanging the calls.

"Yes, of course it is," Jim continued, as though there'd been no break in the conversation. "What do you want?" he mouthed 'sorry' at Sherlock, though Melissa couldn't see the man's reply. He rolled his eyes as he turned away, listening, before he spun back. "SAY THAT AGAIN!" Melissa grinned. "Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will skin you." He drew out the 's' of 'skin'. "Wait." He lowered the phone, walking closer to the bomb and looking down at it. "Sorry. Wrong day to die."

"Oh. Did you get a better offer?"

Jim looked down at his phone again before he turned again to walk away. "You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock." He lifted the phone again. "So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes." Having reached the door, he clicked his fingers, making all the sniper's remove the lasers.

Melissa turned and hurried to meet Jim. They encountered each other next to one of the maintenance cupboards of the pool and Jim, having finished the call for now, grabbed both of Melissa's arms and shoved her into the edge of the door, leaning close enough to touch foreheads. "You interrupted," he hissed, eyes closed.

"I know, Jim, I'm s-"

"You're not allowed to interrupt me, you know that."

"Stop, Jim." He pulled back slightly, but he was still holding her against the wall by her arms. "I know I wasn't allowed to interrupt you for any reason, but I received the call and I believed that it was necessary for you to hear it. Was I correct?"

As an answer, Jim grinned.

~M~

The next time Melissa saw Mycroft it was at one of the many galas that they had frequented together for years. For the majority of that time, they'd simply observed each other across rooms, barely crossing paths. Even after she'd confirmed her identity as Jim's sister – something her brother had decidedly not been happy about her doing – they never had the occasion to speak for long.

She'd studied him, of course, thanks to her brother's plan with the younger Holmes. She'd found him fascinating. But it was only once her brother had truly started to engage with Sherlock that she'd had a chance to engage with Mycroft herself. After all, while she was a wealthy restauranteur, he was a highly ranked government employee.

And she also had the sense that he wanted to distance himself as far as possible from her and the criminal taint her name carried, as even if no one knew she was Jim's brother they knew that, somehow, she was connected with him.

After all, how else could she help someone murder their mistress, as one rumor currently attributed to her.

But after Jim and Sherlock interacted face to face, Mycroft seemed determined to address it.

Melissa had just paused by one of the many pillars around the large hall being used for this get together when Mycroft came to a stop beside her. "The pool."

"I did wonder how much contact you and your little brother had." She glanced at him. "Both your little brother and his doctor left the scene unhurt. Nothing to be concerned about."

"Apparently he didn't mention you."

"Yes, I'm aware." Mycroft's turn to glance at her. "I was there, watching. It was strange. But your little brother is his favorite, so he wanted to do it himself."

"I'm surprised you let him."

"I never did care for the little detective." She took a drink. "Remember, you're my favorite."

"What is he planning?"

"I can't spoil his fun, Mycroft, you know that." She was well aware of the fact that her brother had left bruises on her arms when he'd grabbed her at the pool and, while they were covered by a heavy layer of makeup, someone like Mycroft would notice it upon first glance. She'd even had to avoid Sherlock for the past few days until she'd healed enough just to avoid the man's prying questions.

She was correct. Mycroft glanced down and immediately stepped closer. "What did he do?"

"Did Sherlock mention getting a phone call in the middle of the encounter?" Mycroft nodded. "I received a call that I believed my brother needed to hear immediately. And while he agreed, he was not happy." She sighed. "He really doesn't like to be interrupted."

"I'm sorry."

She turned to look at Mycroft more, still an inch or two below him even with her heels. "I had no idea you cared about me, Mycroft Holmes." He scoffed. "Don't worry. I'll melt your heart in the end." She tapped his chest with her glass. "Unless, of course, there isn't anything there."

"I could say the same about you."

Melissa smirked. "And that's why you're my favorite." She paused. "Though, my brother has expressed an interest in you as well. One I've attempted to dissuade, but he always tends to get what he wants. Perhaps you'll be able to meet him soon too." She took his hand and kissed it. "See you soon, Mycroft Holmes."

"And you, Ms. Brook."

That earned him a smile.

 **A/N: The pool confrontation! Magnussen! And 'flirting' between Mycroft and Melissa. What an exciting chapter :)**

 **I have to express my thanks to everyone who has decided to follow/favorite this story. It means so much to me that anyone has bothered to read it.**

 **Thank you to kittykitty6, Lola Kennedy, Spooky Misty, luupitaoropeza, bookwormultimate, and editor42!**

 **Notes on reviews:**

 _UnDecidedMel: Thank you!_

 _xXEmeralds and ShadowsXx: So glad to hear you've enjoyed it so far!_


	4. Little Siblings Solving Long Division

**Little Siblings Solving Long Division**

Melissa took a drink. She tended to avoid alcohol unless she was in a party or dinner situation, though she did have a few bottles in her flat for nights when her brother was being particularly annoying.

Jim had shouted at her that day. She hadn't done anything, but he'd gotten annoyed at something one of his clients had done. And she'd been the only one there.

Sometimes, when they'd been particularly young, he'd taken various frustrations out and tried various things on her, though she'd done it back just as much. Their parents hadn't allowed them to play with Seamus for a while, as their little brother had been gravely sick with something she honestly didn't remember at this point, but even at that young age, Jim had started showing signs of a more unstable personality.

He'd never been particularly violent, having never truly enjoyed getting his hands dirty in that manner, but he hadn't minded when Melissa would want to experiment in that way or when she'd steal pins and sharpen sticks.

After all, he was her brother, her twin, her entire world. And back then, before his discovery of Sherlock, she was his. For the longest time, they believed each other to be the only other person who could understand them in the world. That there was no one else but Jim and Melissa.

But even then, he'd shout at her when she didn't do what he wanted. When he felt like she betrayed him. She'd always had a response, always found a way to calm him down, but he'd always been slightly more unstable than her, switching between shouting and calm in a second.

It's what made the question of intelligence even harder. Because both Jim and Melissa were smart. Geniuses. As children, when tested, it had seemed equally so, as though their minds were made for each other. As though they'd been made as a perfect pair. But then Jim's extreme unstable nature had started to bleed through - his tendency to want perfection, to control.

But she could still control him. She'd always been able to control him. He'd always listened to her. They were always a pair. Jim and Melissa against the world.

He could run the criminal empire, he could craft a wondrous web that stretched across the entire planet, he could manipulate and warp and turn depravity into greatness. And she could entice, she could listen, she could ensure everything remained safe and undetectable. They could work perfectly together.

There had never been a problem before. And this wasn't a problem, not really. Melissa was used to this. This wouldn't last.

She loved her brother. He was her everything.

But, sometimes, she wondered if he needed her.

 _Care for some company?_

Sebastian walked out of her bedroom a moment after she'd received the text. "You're drinking."

She sat back more. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"Jim."

Sebastian had his hands in his pockets, but he clenched them. "I heard him."

"Ever since the pool..." her upstairs neighbors weren't home at the moment, so Melissa didn't really care what she said. "Something's been different. He won't tell me what's going on."

"Did he ever?"

Melissa acknowledged that with a lift of her glass. "He's been temperamental his entire life. Changeable, to quote him. But today, I asked him to tell me what his next step was and he refused to tell me." She shook her head. "He's never done that before. Maybe not told me things, but he's never not said something if I asked him directly." She looked into her glass. "I'm worried he's going to do something dangerous..."

"He'll tell you, eventually."

"I can't lose him." She looked at Sebastian again. "He's all I have. I don't know who I'd be without him."

~M~

When Mycroft approached Melissa at one her restaurants, she didn't quite know what to expect. They'd never been so overt about their encounters before, preferring to do so in the privacy of parties or dinners where the general public couldn't spy in. Of course, her restaurant couldn't really be described as 'open to the public' but, still, this had never happened before. Walk up to each other when one was standing alone at a party, yes, or acknowledge each other across a room.

But he'd never strode up to her, umbrella still in hand, as she examined the seating plan for some upcoming gathering of wealthy foreign visitors. "Ms. Brook."

She looked up in honest shock. "Mycroft Holmes. Whatever can I do for you today?"

"May we speak in private?"

"Of course." She stood, grabbing her pen as she moved. "Follow me." She led the way to one of the many private rooms, holding the door open for Mycroft to enter first. "Let me say, this is quite a surprise."

"I felt that you should hear this news from me in person." He came to a stop at the edge of the table, turning to face her as she closed the door.

"Do tell."

"I have your brother in custody."

Melissa dropped her pen. "What. The. Fuck."

"An agent managed to locate enough of a lead that we have specific things to question him about."

She closed her eyes. "Please, for once, be fucking joking."

"I'm afraid I'm not." She heard him step forward. "You are in no danger. We are both aware of all the information I and the government have about your involvement in his endeavors. Unless your brother confesses anything-"

"Which will not happen." She opened her eyes. "I do not know exactly what you're hoping for, Mycroft, but my brother will not reveal anything he does not want to. You will not trick him. You will not learn anything. He will play you."

His turn to frown. "Why are you warning me about that?"

"You're my favorite. Jim's not supposed to play with you." Her turn to step forwards, though she did bend down to pick up her pen in the process. "I am touched, Mycroft, that you wanted to come tell me yourself rather than let me discover it when he's released."

"I thought it would be safer for me, in the long run."

She tapped the pen on his chest. "You thought correctly. Thank you, Mycroft. I mean it."

"Your twin is an interesting man."

"I could say the same about your little brother." She smirked. "What a pair we make. The elder siblings of madmen." Before he could respond, Melissa stepped back, turning to leave. "I would recommend you give my brother whatever he wants and let him go if you'd like to continue down the 'safer' route."

"I thought I was your favorite."

She turned back around. "I'm not the one you have to worry about. Jim threatened to burn Sherlie's little heart, but I'm certain he could find something to melt in yours." She'd just reached the door when she paused again, turning back. "I'm going to give you a phone number, Mycroft Holmes. You may do what you wish with it." She walked back to him and took his hand, using her pen to write on his skin.

~M~

Melissa had just received word of her brother's release when her phone went off again.

 _He carved Sherlock's name into the walls._

He didn't sign it, though Melissa hadn't thought he would. She smiled as she read it, in the process of driving to meet her brother.

 _Would you like us to pay for damages? – M x_

It was some time before he responded, days even. Days of Jim telling Melissa precisely what had happened to him while Mycroft's prisoner and what he'd learned in turn.

It was all quite interesting, she had to admit, even if Sherlock had never intrigued her.

 _Have you ever heard of Sherrinford?_

~M~

The siblings sat across from each other in the helicopter as it flew towards a particular island on Christmas day. Melissa had been invited – by John himself – to the small gathering the 221B boys were having that night, but she was much more looking forward to the encounter they were currently traveling towards.

Jim didn't speak to her, instead choosing to listen to some sort of music. Something by Queen, if the few notes Melissa could hear served as any guide. She just looked out the window and twirled a pen.

Her brother was the first one out of the helicopter, taking the moment while she and their two bodyguards – neither Sebastian – exited to dance to the song. She, meanwhile, smiled at the Governor of the Sherrinford, who stood facing them with three guards of his own. Once Jim had removed his earphones and tucked them away, they all walked forward, siblings side by side.

"Mr. Moriarty. Ms. Brook," the governor said as the twins' bodyguards came to a stop a bit in front of them.

"Big G." Jim made a symbol that Melissa didn't recognize. "'Big G'. Means 'governor'. Street speak. I'm a bit down with the kids, you know? I'm relatable that way. D'you like my boys?" Jim stepped to the side, moving slightly behind the man on his left. "This one's got more stamina, but he's less caring in the afterglow."

The governor didn't react. "This way, please."

After a short lift ride, the governor led the way out, Jim next and Melissa after him. He stopped at a staircase, clearly meaning to lead them down to the glass-walled office below, but Jim stopped facing a narrower corridor in front of him. He gestured at the general area. "Smell all that insane criminality." He started to walk forward, but the guard in front of the corridor stopped him. Jim didn't react, only leaned a bit into the corridor. "Do you have cannibals here?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

"Three."

Jim nodded at that. "That's good. People leave their bodies to science; I think cannibals would be so much more grateful." He whistled a tune into the corridor and, in the distance, a few shouts heard in response. Jim smiled at that. "Ah." He turned away from the corridor and followed the governor down.

The man held the door to the glass office open for the twins, leaving them alone inside with Mycroft. Melissa came to a stop beside Jim as he removed his glasses and Mycroft turned around. The man let out a long breath at the sight of both of them together.

This was the first time, after all, that he'd encountered them together. She'd chosen heels that made her Jim's height exactly. To make it all the more clear that they were twins. That, no matter what Melissa had told Mycroft about him being her favorite, she was still Jim's sister.

Jim turned, the small nativity scene that had been set up catching his eye. "Ahh." He moved over to it, picking up the baby Jesus. "Isn't that sweet?"

Mycroft took a seat on his side of the table, with Melissa moving to stand behind a chair opposite him but not join him sitting. "Won't you sit down?"

Jim just looked at the figure. "We wrote our own version of the nativity when we were children," he commented, looking up at Mycroft. "The Hungry Donkey. It was a bit gory but, if you're gonna put a baby in a manger, you're asking for trouble." He dropped the figure back on the table.

"You know what this place is, of course?" Mycroft looked between the siblings.

"Of course." Jim fiddled with some of the animals on the table as he spoke. "So am I under arrest again?"

"You both remain people of interest, but until either of you commits a verifiable crime you are – I regret – at liberty."

"Then why are we here?"

"You're" Mycroft looked only at Jim "a Christmas present."

"Ah." Jim turned to walk past Mycroft, spreading his arms as he passed the man. "How'd you want me?"

Mycroft turned in his chair as he spoke. "There is, in this facility, a prisoner whose intellectual abilities are of occasional use to the British government."

Jim stopped to look out the window, but it was Melissa who spoke. "For difficult sums? Long division?" she enjoyed the look Mycroft threw her for that. "That sort of thing?"

"She predicted the exact dates of the last three terrorist attacks on the British mainland after an hour on Twitter. That sort of thing. In return, however, she requires treats. Last year it was a violin."

"This year?"

"Five minutes' unsupervised conversation...with you."

Both Jim and Melissa blinked at that. "Me?" He smiled, turning to look at Mycroft with a hand to his chest. "With me?"

"She has noted your interest in the activities of my little brother."

Jim moved around the other end of the table, taking the seat Melissa wasn't standing behind. "So...what's she got to do...with Sherlock Holmes?" He put his hands on the table. "Whatever you're about to tell me...I already know it's gonna be..." he propped his left elbow on the table, resting his head in his hand "awesome!"

~M~

Melissa did admit discovering that Mycroft and Sherlock had a secret little sister who'd set fire to their family home was a shock. She'd stayed standing the entire time Mycroft had spoken, but at one point Jim had leaned back in order to exchange a look of eager surprise with her.

Now, Jim was being escorted down to meet with Eurus Holmes – the woman had only wanted to speak to him – and Melissa had finally taken a seat across from Mycroft. The man watched the security feed of his sister silently until, as requested, it flickered to static.

"I will say, I didn't expect this."

He glanced at her. "What did you think would happen?"

"Part of me did think this was an attempt to arrest the pair of us in unison."

"Then why come?"

"Curiosity." She tapped the pen on the table. "This revelation has quite ruined the lovely comparisons that could be drawn between our siblings."

"Comparisons?"

"Lina and Seamus. Sherlock and Jim. You and me." For the last one, she gestured between them with her pen. "Eurus just doesn't fit."

"You don't have a secret fourth sibling hiding somewhere? A secret sister of your own?"

"Now that you mention it, we do have a secret little sister named Zephyrus who's great at long division. What a coincidence." She smirked. "Has Irene Adler been fun?"

He turned to face her more. "What do you know of her?"

"Whispers, mostly. Apparently, she has a phone with some particularly delicious images on it." She tapped the pen again. "I wonder if she's met our mutual acquaintance."

Mycroft's jaw shifted at that. "Let's keep him out of it."

"As you wish, your majesty." She glanced at the screen again. "Your brother is hosting a Christmas party tonight. John asked me to attend."

"Are you?"

"I am their neighbor, after all." Back to Mycroft. "Apparently, Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade and Molly Hooper are going to be in attendance, as well as John's current fling. He asked if I wanted to bring anyone. I said no."

"Sounds fun."

Melissa scoffed. "They're all so infuriatingly dull that I'll be surprised if I stay awake. May just start texting you for entertainment."

Mycroft's turn to glance at the screen. "Does he know?"

"No." Mycroft looked a bit surprised at that. "We don't tell each other everything, Mycroft. We each have our own lives. Our own secrets from each other." Back to the screen. "Some more than others."

"You sound less than enthusiastic about that."

The pen tapped her lips. "Jim can be a difficult brother." She pointed the pen at him. "As you clearly understand." She laughed. "Sherlock must have been fun as a child."

Mycroft sighed. "You have no idea." Back to the screen. Neither of them seemed to be able to look away from it for too long. She was a bit annoyed that Eurus hadn't wanted to meet with her too, but Jim was the one concocting the plan and taking an interest in Sherlock. Eurus didn't seem to be overly focused on Mycroft and, thus, not on Melissa either.

"Now, how shall we fill the remaining time as our siblings chat?" She turned in the chair, looking back at the various guards and officials in the room beyond. "Keep in mind, we do have quite an audience, so nothing too exciting, regrettably."

"How's Seamus?"

Melissa stopped facing him again. "I'm certain he'd be honored that you remembered his name. He's good. I think."

"You think?"

"I care about him, but we regrettably do not engage in regular conversation. There isn't much for a restaurateur and a station master to bond over."

"He really doesn't know what you and your brother do?"

"What we are alleged to do," she corrected, smirking. "After all, as you've admitted, we've not committed any verifiable crimes."

Mycroft glanced at the people in the room beyond. "That's not quite true."

Immediately, Melissa stilled. "Explain."

"In February, a body was discovered in the Russian embassy. He seemed to have been placed there as a message. Shot in each foot, kneecap, shoulder, and gut. Then, apparently, in a spray. Quite brutal. No blood, which was the largest clue that it had been placed there. After a bit of investigation, it was discovered that he was a member of a criminal organization that has previously been suspected to have quite a few deals with your brother and his associates."

"And what does that have to do with us specifically?" Melissa had spent that entire time being extremely careful to keep her face empty of any reaction, but she knew it was unlikely for her to fool Mycroft Holmes.

"There was a note with the body. 'From Melissa'. He signed it for you."

Without another word, Melissa threw her pen at the nativity display and knocked a few of the figurines off.

"As I'm sure you've just gathered, I kept anyone from connecting the two, so you haven't been and won't be arrested. No one in my government but I know of your true identity. Many, at the moment, suspect your involvement, but no one knows exactly who you are."

"Why did you tell me this?"

"I thought it best if it came from me."

"One does not just volunteer such information willingly. What do you want in return?"

"A favor."

"A favor?"

"Yes."

"That's it?"

"A favor can be quite a lot."

"You hold my freedom in your hand. A favor isn't much at all."

"All the same."

Melissa allowed herself a chuckle. "Do you need me to do any long division for you? Sadly, I'm not that good at maths, so it might take me some time." He actually laughed at that. "Well, you have my number, so you can cash that favor in whenever you like."

"I look forward to the day."

"As do I."

"Why did you kill him, by the way?"

"His bosses tried to kill me. They sacrificed him to maintain our relationship but, apparently, Jim wanted to drive the message home even more." She glanced at the screens. "Why look at that. Their five minutes in heaven are over." Melissa stood. "Goodbye for now, Mycroft."

"Are you going to ask him about the note?"

"And reveal our wonderfully intoxicating mutual enjoyment of each other? Why would I want to do that?" She stepped to the door. "Besides, Moran might kill you for holding something like that over me. And I wouldn't want something like that to happen." She glanced at the nativity set. "Sorry about that. Normally I'm not so...violent."

"I think our Russian friend proves differently."

"Touché."

~M~

Melissa waited a bit after Lestrade had arrived at the boys' party before she walked up. She had no desire to be in a room with just Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, John, and his fling, but Lestrade had the potential to prove interesting. She knocked on the doorframe as she entered. "Hello, boys."

John popped his head out of the kitchen. "Ah, Melissa, hey! Glad you could make it."

"Melissa?" a woman, John's date, stepped up to her. "Jeanette."

Melissa shook her hand. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Melissa Brook. I live downstairs."

"The Melissa Brook?" Lestrade asked, Melissa having been relatively familiar with the man thanks to her and her brother's research. "Of the restaurants?"

"The very same."

"You're the neighbor?"

She flashed him a smile. "Correct." She moved over to where Mrs. Hudson was sitting. "Hello, Mrs. Hudson. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas dear!" Mrs. Hudson turned more towards Sherlock. "Play it, Sherlock, go on."

Sherlock, without a moment's delay, took up his violin and began playing a wonderful rendition of 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas'. Melissa took the time to get herself a glass of wine. He finished the song with a flourish of the bow, earning a whistle of appreciation from Lestrade. "Lovely!" Mrs. Hudson cheered. "Sherlock, that was lovely!"

"Marvelous!" John agreed.

"Quite something," Melissa offered.

Sherlock gave a small bow to the gathered people. Mrs. Hudson giggled. "I wish you could have worn the antlers!"

"Some things are best left to the imagination, Mrs. Hudson."

John handed Mrs. Hudson a cup of tea. "Mrs. H."

Jeanette walked up to Sherlock, having gotten a tray of mince pies and cake from the kitchen. "No thank you, Sarah."

Her face fell and John rushed over. "Uh, no, no, no, no, no. He's not good with names."

"No, no, no, I can get this." The woman put down the tray and straightened, folding her arms. "No, Sarah was the doctor; and then there was the one with the spots; and then the one with the nose; and then...who was after the boring teacher?"

"Nobody."

"Jeanette!" Sherlock grinned at her. "Ah, process of elimination." Quickly, John shepherded Jeanette away from him. "Oh, dear Lord."

Everyone turned at the sight of Molly Hooper entering. She looked remarkably fine, which had Melissa wondering if John or Sherlock had bothered to tell her that Jim from IT was actually the head of a worldwide criminal organization who'd attempted to kill both of them. "Hello, everyone. Sorry, hello. It said on the door just to come up."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, everybody's saying hello to each other. How wonderful!"

Molly started to remove her coat, a sight that earned looks of shock from both John and Lestrade. "Let me...holy Mary!"

"Wow!"

"Having a Christmas drinkies, then?"

"No stopping them, apparently." Sherlock took a seat in front of the computer, clearly already tired of the festivities. Melissa was trying to think back to the last time she'd been surrounded by so many people who weren't wealthy, clever, attractive, or any combination of the three.

She didn't think it had ever happened before. How odd.

"It's the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me," Mrs. Hudson told Molly, "so it's almost worth it!"

Sherlock summoned John to look at the computer while Melissa introduced herself to Molly. "Melissa Brook, their downstairs neighbor." She'd neglected any heels for this entire encounter in a direct attempt not to upstage Molly or Jeanette, though she was fairly certain the effort was for naught. "Pleasure to meet you. Would you like a drink?" Molly nodded and Melissa stepped into the kitchen to retrieve it.

"How's the hip?" she asked Mrs. Hudson.

"Ooh, it's atrocious, but thanks for asking."

"I've seen much worse, but then I do most-mortems." A silence fell. "Oh, God. Sorry."

"Don't make jokes, Molly," Sherlock called.

"No. Sorry."

"Thank you." She smiled at her before looking to Lestrade. "I wasn't expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas."

"That's first thing in the morning, me and the wife. We're back together. It's all sorted." He grinned, but it didn't last.

"No, she's sleeping with a P.E. teacher."

Melissa suppressed a snort at how tight Lestrade's face got at that comment.

Molly turned to John, who was sitting on the arm of the chair Jeanette was occupying. "And John, I hear you're off to your sister's, is that right?"

"Yeah."

"Sherlock was complaining..." Sherlock raised his eyebrows "...saying."

John nodded. "First time ever, she's cleaned up her act. She's off the booze."

"Nope," Sherlock commented.

"Shut up, Sherlock."

"I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him."

"Sorry, what?"

"In fact, you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift."

Melissa took a drink at that. John sighed. "Take a day off."

Lestrade shook his head, having just finished going through his own revelation of his wife's infidelity. "Shut up and have a drink."

"Oh, come on. Surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag – perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best." He stood, moving towards Molly and the bags of presents she'd brought. "It's for someone special, then." He picked up the present in question. "The shade of red echoes her lipstick – either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has love" he drew out the vowel "on her mind. The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact she's giving him a gift at all. That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn; and that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she's wearing." He grinned at John and Jeanette, looking positively smug, as he turned over the gift tag. "Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts..."

But he trailed off as he read what was on the tag, a fact that had Melissa chugging down the rest of her wine.

"You always say such horrible things." Molly was fighting back tears. "Every time. Always. Always."

Sherlock turned to walk away, but he turned back. "I am sorry. Forgive me." He stepped closer to her. "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper." He gave her a kiss on the cheek, an action that shocked the entire room.

In that precise moment, something – or someone – let out an orgasmic sigh.

Molly jumped in shock. "No! That wasn't...I...I didn't..."

"No, it was me," Sherlock said.

Lestrade's eyes widened. "My God, really?"

"What?"

"My phone." He reached into his jacket for his phone.

"Fifty-seven?" John asked.

Sherlock glanced at him. "Sorry, what?"

"Fifty-seven of those texts – the ones I've heard."

Sherlock glanced at his phone and turned to the mantelpiece. "Thrilling that you've been counting." He picked up a small gift box. "Excuse me."

He started to walk towards the kitchen. "What...what's up, Sherlock?" John asked.

"I said excuse me." Sherlock didn't look back.

"D'you ever reply?"

Sherlock ignored him, walking into his bedroom. The rest of the people at the gathering, soundly confused by that entire situation, moved closer together. Melissa moved into the kitchen under the pretense of getting herself more to drink, but she really wanted to hear what Sherlock did next.

After a few seconds of silence, he called someone. "I think you're going to find Irene Adler tonight." John moved past Melissa to stand in the doorway, listening in far more overtly. "No, I mean you're going to find her dead." Sherlock hung up and walked to the door.

"You okay?" John asked him.

"Yes." Sherlock closed the door in his face.

A second later, Melissa's own phone went off, though her tone was far less exciting than Sherlock's. "Hello."

"Did you actually go?" it was Mycroft.

"Yes."

"Somewhere private?"

"One moment." She lowered the phone, looking to John. "Terribly sorry to leave, but this is an urgent call. Thank you for the wine, and happy Christmas." She didn't give John a chance to respond before she'd exited the flat and started down the stairs. "Before you say anything else, thank you. I was afraid I'd have to drink an entire bottle just to stay slightly entertained."

"I thought you would appreciate it. What did he find?"

"There was a box. Looked about the size of a phone. Irene's?"

"I'm afraid I can't disclose that information."

Melissa laughed, entering her own flat. "Pity that Irene has 'died'. I never did have a chance to meet her in person. Always wanted to try what she had to offer." Mycroft made a noise. "Happy Christmas, Mycroft."

"Happy Christmas."

 **A/N: We've finally reached infamous Final Problem scene that honestly had me thinking Moriarty had survived!**

 **Just a note, since _Sherlock_ 's timeline is notoriously confusing, I've attempted to make one of my own that this story will be following. Once this story is all posted, I will also be posting the timeline on my Tumblr (it gets a bit spoilery, so I can't post it now, sadly)**


	5. Allies Against the Coming Storm

**Allies Against the Coming Storm**

Mycroft had just sunk back into his chair, a list of demands unfortunately necessary, when Irene Adler spoke again. "I can't take all the credit. Had a bit of help." She looked over to where Sherlock was sitting staring into the fire. "Oh, Jim Moriarty sends his love."

Sherlock raised his head at that name, but Mycroft stilled too, forcing himself to sigh. "Yes, he's been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention...which I'm sure can be arranged."

Irene stood and moved around the table, coming to sit on the edge closer to Mycroft. "I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the consultant criminal. He and his sister gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys. D'you know what they call you?" She lowered her voice. "The Ice Man." She looked over to Sherlock. "And the Virgin." Mycroft didn't quite know why he felt slightly offended that Melissa had given Irene any sort of advice. He should have expected it, after all. He knew he should have expected it. "Didn't even ask for anything. I think he just likes to cause trouble and she just likes to treat him. Now that's my kind of man."

Mycroft made a note of it to mention it to Melissa in the future.

~M~

After a little over a year of living in the basement flat of 221 Baker Street, Melissa Brook moved out. She did it when the upstairs detectives were off in Dartmoor in order to avoid an annoying conversation. Jim hadn't approved it, but Melissa had decided that she didn't care.

She just didn't like 221C.

She just didn't want to be there anymore.

Instead, she moved into a far nicer flat in a much nicer part of London, which was similar to the place she'd lived before moving to 221. She'd always much preferred that area of London.

Living next to a cheap café just wasn't something a restauranteur could tolerate for too long.

When Jim did discover that Melissa had moved out without consulting him, he didn't contact her to discuss it. She knew he wasn't happy with her – he didn't text her for an entire week – but he didn't come to shout at her.

According to Sebastian, he was particularly irritated for that week, but Sebastian managed to keep him from coming after Melissa. That didn't stop her from going to her brother herself and demanding he tell her what he was planning next.

Normally, she didn't care what his plans were. She didn't care about anything involving his criminal web. Her job was to entice people into using him, not to manipulate them herself. There was no reason for her to know what he did; better if she didn't, in fact, just in case something went horribly wrong.

Something like the Russian body that Jim had left with a signed note.

Melissa hadn't mentioned that to him because in order to do that she would have had to admit her developing relationship – she didn't know any other word for it – with Mycroft Holmes, but she was angry at him for it.

Jim liked to put on a show, but normally he wasn't that stupid. Normally, he didn't risk her like that.

He knew that Mycroft knew about their connection. He knew that Mycroft, if no one else, would be able to track down the connection between the Russian body and her brother's empire which, on its own, would mean nothing, but with a note signed with her name?

If he'd wanted to, Mycroft could have destroyed her. He could have destroyed everything.

But he hadn't.

Melissa wasn't foolish enough to think that Mycroft had done it because he actually liked her. No, she knew that Mycroft Holmes didn't 'like' people. She understood it.

She didn't 'like' people either. Care for siblings, yes, but not strangers.

Not twin sisters of the head of a criminal organization.

That time, Jim did tell her something of what he was planning.

He was going to break into the Tower of London, the Bank of England, and Pentonville Prison in unison. He was going to let himself get arrested, go to trial. He was going to walk free. And then he was going to burn Sherlock Holmes.

That was all he told her, but Melissa was thankful for that.

It meant they were back to normal. That they had returned to some semblance of how they were supposed to be. It meant that she hadn't lost him, not yet.

~M~

The day Jim's wonderful plan was carried out, Melissa was having lunch with Seamus. They saw what he'd done on the news.

Seamus was shocked. Melissa explained as best she could.

The government had set Jim up in an attempt to reveal Sherlock Holmes as a fraud. He wasn't actually guilty. He hadn't actually done anything illegal.

Thankfully, Seamus was so dull and trusting that he actually believed her.

She'd just waved him goodbye, sending him off in a car and hoping there wasn't some seed of doubt hiding in the back of his mind, when her phone went off.

Mycroft was calling.

"What is he doing?"

"Hello to you too, Mycroft. So touched you called. Isn't the weather today lovely?"

"Just answer the question."

"He's having fun." Sebastian pulled up in a car in front of Melissa, letting her slide in. "Don't worry, no one's been harmed. Just a bit of showing off, a bit of manipulation. Everything is nice and tidy."

A pause. "You left Baker Street."

"Oh, I'm touched you noticed."

"I keep a close watch on my little brother."

"Want a bit of a warning?" She leaned back, withdrawing a pen from her hair. "Apparently, some international assassins are going to be moving close to 221B soon. Don't know why, before you ask. But you'll likely be hearing about it from your spies anyway."

"Good to know."

"Do you think your little brother will be called in as a witness for Jim's trial? I might come and watch that."

"Are you going to attend his trial?"

"It'll be the trial of the century. How could Melissa Brook resist?"

"Not worried Sherlock will identify you?"

"Not unless someone decides to tell him." Melissa smiled. "Talk to you soon, Mycroft."

"And you, Ms. Brook."

~M~

The six weeks between Jim's arrest and his trial were some of the most annoying weeks of Melissa's life. As the news of the arrest of a man named Moriarty spread throughout the world, almost everyone that Melissa had connected with him and even some she hadn't contacted her for an explanation.

She swore time and time again that there was no danger of their own identities being betrayed, and some people believed her. She had the few who Jim had warned, for whatever reason, connected with anyone who continued to doubt in order to give them a second opinion on their security. In order to show them that Jim was merely advertising himself.

But there were some people who simply refused to believe her.

Those were the people who sent someone to either kill or kidnap her, Melissa didn't bother finding out which. The first - and only - time it happened, she'd been sitting in her new flat, pen in hand and water in the other, embracing the silence that moving away from 221 and its violin player allowed her, when something creaked behind her.

Melissa took the second she had to react to twist, stabbing the pen towards the attacker's neck and the glass towards their eyes. It worked surprisingly well, making them stumble back from the pain, still gripping their gun. She leapt over the back of the couch, but before she could move anymore they fired, seemingly blindly, into her thigh.

Melissa bent over in shock, one hand immediately putting pressure to the wound, and moved back, hurrying for her own weapon. The assailant, masked, still moved quicker than her and made to punch the wound, though Melissa managed to step to the side and grab his weapon hand with her free hand. From that shock, she was able to pull the weapon from his hand and fire it without asking, blowing out his brain.

The silence afterward sounded incredibly loud. Melissa didn't dare to put down the gun as she moved towards her phone, dialing Sebastian.

"Come now...mother fucker!" Melissa winced against the pain. "Now!"

She moved to the ground, still holding her wound, as her vision blurred.

She wasn't going to stay here either.

Until Jim's trial ended and everything returned to normal, she decided she wouldn't have a set residence. Make herself harder to find.

Sebastian, to his credit, showed up at her flat at a speed that made her think he'd been waiting nearby. He didn't spend long looking at the dead body in the middle of her floor, instead hurrying to her. "How bad?"

"I don't think it's too deep." She hadn't studied the wound yet, instead just choosing to focus on staying conscious.

He moved her hand and took in a breath. "You need the hospital."

Melissa managed to nod. "Robbery gone wrong. Call. Now."

As she spoke, her vision completely cut out and she collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

~M~

When Melissa came to again, she was lying in a hospital bed. There were a few minutes while she was alone, her mind slowly settling and processing the medication, before Sebastian re-entered the room. "You're lucky, he didn't break any bones and they're fairly certain he didn't hit an artery. They want to keep you here for a few days to monitor, but you should be fine."

"Who was it?"

Sebastian raised his eyebrows. "You blew his brains out. Bit hard to identify him after that."

"Does Seamus know?"

"It got out into the news. He visited earlier today, but he had to get back to work."

"And Jim?"

"I managed to contact him, but I haven't received a response."

They sat in silence for a bit after that, Melissa taking her phone and processing through the various messages she could answer at the moment.

There was a knock at the door. "I hope I'm not interrupting." It was Mycroft Holmes.

"I'm honored," Melissa said, smiling at him. "The Ice Man came to visit."

Mycroft looked to Sebastian. "And who is this?"

"Moran. Security."

"I'd recommend you invest in some new security, Ms. Brook, if your current situation is anything to go by."

Melissa smiled. "Moran, you can wait outside." Sebastian gave her a look for that, but he left and closed the door after himself. "Won't you sit down?"

Mycroft did as Melissa offered, taking the chair that Sebastian had been occupying previously. "Do you know who it was?"

"I blew their brains out. There wasn't much of a chance to ask him who sent him." She sat up a bit more in the bed. "Don't expect to find a body in an embassy this time."

"Yes, I've taken the liberty to secure your innocence in the man's death."

"Were you in charge of the news reaching the papers?"

He smirked. "Guilty as charged. I ensured that it was taken without question by the public as a robbery gone wrong. Moran had apparently already taken care of the body and brain matter by the time the police arrived, so it appeared as though you shot the attacker and he fled."

"How'd you know someone died at all?"

"I didn't believe you'd let him get away alive, especially since you were holding a gun."

"Thank you, Mycroft. I mean it." A pause. "Why did you do it? This and the Russian. You had no reason to. We're not friends."

Because they weren't. Neither Melissa or Mycroft had 'friends'. She and Jim had long ago established that for themselves. She cared for Jim because he was her twin, her brother, her whole world. She cared for Seamus because she was expected to. She cared for Sebastian – to a far lesser degree – because he was strong and attractive and useful. But he wasn't her friend. She'd never had friends. Even in school, she'd had people who surrounded her, other children she and Jim had drawn in, but none of them were their friends.

People like them simply didn't have friends.

The only issue with that statement was Mycroft Holmes.

"No, we're not. Allies, perhaps."

Melissa nodded. "Allies." A pause. "Does this count as another favor?"

Mycroft said nothing, only stood. "Wishing for your swift recovery, Ms. Brook."

"Thank you, again." She waved her phone. "Keep in touch."

~M~

The day Sherlock was meant to serve as the expert witness, thankfully enough time had passed Melissa was able to attend the trial with the assistance of crutches. Her wound was healing, so long as she didn't aggravate it, and she'd been living in seclusion for the past few weeks in order to attempt to limit any threats to her life.

Though, thankfully, word still managed to get out to her brother's criminal empire what had happened to the man sent after her, so it was possible no one else dared try anything. She had still taken calls and allayed worries, connecting the people she could in her brother's stead. She attempted to avoid the last thing as much as possible, as she didn't want to miss anything up that her brother had set up.

He seemed to have set things up to run by itself for as long as possible, but there were a few people who got too antsy or altered things through human error that she had to step in to help.

The restaurants also ran themselves and, should she need to do anything, the majority of it was able to be done either from her seclusion or by a personally appointed assistant.

She attended the trial dressed as close to the Melissa Brook style as she could manage, though the lack of heels and addition of crutches did put a damper on the entire affair. She garnered the attention of a few reporters outside as she entered, but she avoided their questions. Sebastian, functioning as the face of her security that day, kept them all back as she entered. There was other security around, of course, but she felt it important to have someone physically by her side, especially should anything go drastically wrong with her injury.

Right before she entered the public gallery, Sherlock exited a loo nearby, seeming to be recomposing himself, though his gaze landed on her. "Hello Sherlock," she said with a smile. Compared to his brother, he was just a little boy. Most of the time Melissa just didn't see what her brother saw in him. "Good luck today."

"I saw in the papers."

"Yes, a sad caveat of being a wealthy woman in the public eye is that sometimes people want to try their luck." She played up her accent heavily, forcing him to hear it, wondering if it would ping in his stupid little head.

She wasn't as deductive as either Holmes boy, but she could still read people. She still understood them, how to get them to do what she wanted. How to fool them into thinking what she wanted them to think.

A far more useful skill, in her opinion.

It was how she'd made so many 'friends' as a child.

"Enjoy the trial." Sherlock moved to walk past her.

"Oh, I will, Mr. Holmes. You two seem to have so much fun playing your little game."

Sherlock actually stopped at that, though he didn't turn to face her. She didn't wait for him to, entering the public gallery. Jim was waiting below, observing the public gallery in a casual manner as the court resettled. It appeared he'd gotten someone to give him gum. His gaze landed on her, gum chewing stalling, before continuing on.

 _Possible you'll be receiving a phone call from the Virgin in the near future._

Mycroft didn't immediately respond, but Melissa tucked her phone away, taking a seat at the front of the public gallery right above where Jim stood. If Sherlock had begun to make the connection, seeing them in close proximity would be enough to cement it.

It had done it for Mycroft, after all.

After the necessary legalities, the prosecuting barrister stood. "A 'consulting criminal'," she told Sherlock, carrying on from their previous conversation prior to the trial.

"Yes."

"Your words. Can you expand on that answer?"

"James Moriarty is for hire."

"A tradesman?"

"Yes." He drew out the word.

"But not the sort who'd fix your heating."

"No, the sort who'd plant a bomb or stage an assassination, but I'm sure he'd make a pretty decent job of your boiler."

There was a ripple of laughter throughout the court, even Melissa and Jim suppressing smirks.

"Would you describe him as..."

But Sherlock interrupted the barrister. "Leading."

"What?"

"Can't do that. You're leading the witness." He glanced at the defending barrister, who had yet to make any points. "He'll object and the judge will uphold."

The judge looked amusingly annoyed. "Mr. Holmes."

"Ask me how," he continued. "How would I describe him? What opinion have I formed of him?" he rolled his eyes. "Do they not teach you this?"

"Mr. Holmes, we're fine without your help."

"How would you describe this man – his character?"

"First mistake." Sherlock locked eyes with Jim. "James Moriarty isn't a man at all – he's a spider; a spider at the center of a web – a criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances."

Jim nodded in approval at that description of him. Melissa smiled at it. Jim was the spider, Melissa was the trap. It was how they worked. How they danced.

"And how long..."

Sherlock actually closed his eyes in exasperation at the question. "No, no, don't, don't do that. That's really not a good question."

"Mr. Holmes."

"How long have I known him? Not really your best line of inquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun; he tried to blow me up. I felt we had a special something." Jim raised his eyebrows at that.

The judge frowned at the prosecuting barrister. "Miss Sorrel, are you seriously claiming this man is an expert, after knowing the accused for just five minutes?"

"Two minutes would have made me an expert. Five was ample."

"Mr. Holmes, that's a matter for the jury."

"Oh, really?" Sherlock turned to face the box of twelve, narrowing his eyes slightly as he began to deduce. "One librarian; two teachers; two high-pressured jobs, probably the city. The foreman's a medical secretary, trained abroad judging by her shorthand."

"Mr. Holmes!"

"Seven are married and two are having an affair – with each other, it would seem! Oh, and they've just had tea and biscuits." He turned to the judge. "Would you like to know who ate the wafer?"

"Mr. Holmes. You've been called here to answer Miss Sorrel's questions, not to give us a display of your intellectual prowess." Sherlock smiled at the compliment. "Keep your answers brief and to the point. Anything else will be treated as contempt. Do you think you could survive for just a few minutes without showing off?"

Sherlock paused for a moment, seeming to consider it, and opened his mouth.

What followed was Sherlock ending up getting himself arrested and the trial being recessed. Melissa pulled her phone back out.

 _Your brother was very naughty._

Melissa felt like she could hear Mycroft's sigh at that.

She leaned behind her to where John was sitting, looking quite annoyed by what Sherlock had done. "Didn't take your advice, did he?"

John looked shocked to see her. "Melissa! I didn't expect to see you here. Especially after..."

"It's the trial of the century. How could I resist?" She smiled. "Quite the story Sherlock told there. Be interesting to know what the defense says in response."

~M~

As it turned out, the defense decided to say nothing. They didn't even have any witnesses. Jim was attempting to make a point with this event, after all. Melissa kept receiving various messages throughout the entire thing. Anyone who'd doubted Jim had started to change their mind, after all, as what he was doing sunk in. And anyone new, anyone who wanted in, found a way to retrieve her number.

Suddenly, everyone wanted Jim.

Once it was time for the jury to make their decision, the judge actually recommended a verdict: guilty.

But six minutes later, the jury had returned.

They found him not guilty.

Melissa smiled at that.

It had worked. Not that she doubted Jim, of course, she could never doubt him. But it was refreshing.

Thanks to the number of reporters outside, Jim and Melissa weren't able to speak in person immediately, though once he was able to she received a text.

 _Off to tea with the expert witness. –J_

 _See if he mentions me. I may have given him a hint. And you're quite the popular man now._

 _;)_

 _I'll start transferring some for you to consider._

 _Love you, M._

 _Have fun._

Mycroft was the next person to call her, though she was thankfully in her own car by that point. For someone who she'd barely shared a single conversation with a year earlier, they now had quite regular communication. "I take it your business is booming."

"Yes, the recent tourism has been helpful for people in my business." She rested a hand on her wound, repressing the urge to pick at it. "Our brothers are about to have tea, as a warning. In case one of your little spies spots him entering 221B."

"How quaint."

"Do these little warnings count as your favors?" Melissa glanced at Sebastian as she said that.

"I'm starting to think you just like to hear my voice."

"I could say the same about you. I've been told Dublin lilts are particularly delectable to hear."

 **A/N: The trial of the century! But, sadly, there is a storm coming.**


	6. No Time for Mourning

**No Time for Mourning**

Melissa was able to help her brother with the next stage of his plan. Together, they created Richard Brook – no relation to Melissa or Seamus, as she was prepared to swear to her grave. An out of work actor hired by Sherlock to make him into the powerful sleuth he was.

It really was simple for them to do it, especially after so long maintaining their separate identities as they did. It felt good to be working together again. Normal. How it should be.

They gave the story – the fraud detective Sherlock Holmes decked in stories that Mycroft had told Jim – to a reporter named Kitty, someone who was dreaming for a scoop on the detective.

As Jim moved in with Kitty, fulfilling the public expectation, Melissa continued to manage the various people interested in the 'key' to the places Jim had broken into. There was no key, of course, but no one needed to know that.

She did admit, it was quite a brilliant bit of puppeteering by her brother. So many trails that led to nowhere.

She did wonder what Mycroft thought when he read about Richard Brook in the paper, but the man didn't contact her or answer the phone when she called.

But she was confident he wouldn't ignore her for long.

~M~

Mycroft poured himself a drink as John Watson was deposited in the room of Diogenes. "Tradition, John. Our traditions define us."

"So total silence is traditional, is it? You can't even say, 'pass the sugar'."

"Three-quarters of the diplomatic service and half the government front bench all sharing one tea trolley. It's for the best, believe me." He smiled at John, but his face shifted as he moved towards the armchairs. "They don't want a repeat of 1972. But we can talk in here."

Jon picked up the paper, a copy of 'The Sun', lying on the small table. "You read this stuff?"

"Caught my eye. Saturday: they're doing a big expose."

John read the main headline. "I'd love to know where she got her information."

"Someone called Brook. Recognize the name?"

John lowered the paper. "Melissa?"

"No, a male, Richard."

"Brother of hers?"

Melissa had two brothers, neither named Richard, but John needn't yet know that Mycroft knew so much about his previous downstairs neighbor. "Unlikely. Terrible for her image if it was."

John shrugged. "School friend, maybe?"

Mycroft chuckled at that. "Of Sherlock's? But that's not why I asked you here."

He asked him here to discuss something Melissa had told him when her brother had first been arrested. Something she'd warned him about, in that snide way of hers.

Something she'd used to remind him that no matter what he or his brother did, she and hers were always one step ahead.

~M~

Melissa kept an eye on the case Sherlock and John started on, the kidnapping of an ambassador's children. Jim had had the girl traumatized so that she was terrified of Sherlock upon seeing him, forcing the police to arrest him.

The two men, as Sherlock took John as a 'hostage', apparently, managed to escape. They went to Kitty's flat in an attempt to confront her and ran into Jim in the process.

It all sounded rather exciting, but there wasn't much time to focus on that success.

The conclusion of the plan still had to be done.

Sherlock still had to die.

~M~

When Mycroft entered the private room, he looked up to see John Watson sitting with his back to him, reading through a file. "She has really done her homework, Miss Riley – things that only someone close to Sherlock could know."

Mycroft closed the door. "Ah."

"Have you seen your brother's address book lately? Two names: yours and mine. And Moriarty didn't get this stuff from me."

He walked across the room to face him. "John..."

"So how does it work, then, your relationship? D'you go out for a coffee now and then, eh, you and Jim?" Switch the siblings, and that was exactly what happened. Mycroft sat across from him, opening his mouth to speak, but John continued. "Your own brother, and you blabbed about his entire life to this maniac."

"I never inten...I never dreamt..."

John interrupted again. "So this...th-th-this...is what you were trying to tell me, isn't it: 'Watch his back, cause I've made a mistake'." He slapped the papers down onto the table beside him, clearing his throat. "How did you meet him?"

Mycroft drew a long breath. "People like him and his sister: we know about them, we watch them. But James Moriarty...the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen, and in his pocket the ultimate weapon: a keycode. A few lines of computer code that could unlock any door." He'd lied to Melissa, one of the few times he'd tried to. For months now Moriarty had been spreading word of his possession of a powerful keycode, they'd just decided to bite at one point.

"And you abducted him to try and find the keycode?"

"Interrogated him for weeks."

"And?"

"He wouldn't play along." As Melissa had told him. He should have listened. "He just sat there, staring into the darkness. The only thing that made him open up..." Mycroft gestured at himself. "I could get him to talk...just a little, but..."

John finished for him. "...in return you had to offer him Sherlock's life story. So one big lie – Sherlock's a fraud – but people swallow it because the rest of it's true." He sat forward in his chair. "Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right? And you have given him the perfect ammunition." He smiled bitterly at Mycroft, but he could only lower his eyes. John stood, turning towards the door.

"John..." John looked back at him. "I'm sorry."

John shook his head. "Oh, please." He laughed to himself as he walked to the door.

"Tell him, would you?" but John said nothing as he walked away, leaving the door open behind him.

Melissa had warned him it wasn't worth it. She may not have known why they'd abducted Moriarty, but she warned him that they would be played.

But he hadn't listened. And now they were all going to pay.

~M~

It wasn't long before Jim sent Melissa word that Sherlock had chosen Bart's rooftop for their final confrontation. Jim wasn't going to go there immediately, of course. He and Melissa ensured that the snipers – set to kill John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade if Sherlock didn't kill himself – were all prepared. Sebastian wasn't chosen to be a sniper, instead staying with Melissa to ensure her protection.

He seemed a bit upset about that, but neither sibling was too concerned at the moment.

All of London believed that Sherlock was a fraud who'd created Moriarty to make himself seem smarter. Melissa kept checking her phone for a message from Mycroft, but the big brother didn't contact her.

If Jim noticed that, he didn't mention anything.

When the time came for the showdown, Jim went to the roof of the hospital and Melissa to a building nearby to watch. This time she wouldn't be able to hear anything that was being said between them, but it would be interesting to watch them together.

Jim sent Sherlock a text, sat on a raised ledge and waited, seeming to be listening to some sort of music.

Melissa extracted a pen and began to twist, refusing to sit down despite Sebastian's urging. Her leg had healed enough that she could stand on it better, though it did still hurt if she put weight on it for too long.

When Sherlock entered the roof, Jim lifted the phone. Sherlock paced around the roof, Jim holding out one of his hands flat before putting it to his head. At something he said, Sherlock looked to him sharply, stopping. Jim rubbed his face and stood, starting to make his own circle around the detective.

Melissa honestly wished she'd arranged for some sort of microphone to listen in on what they were discussing.

Sherlock gestured to his head, but whatever he said only made Jim turn away, disappointed. He buried his face into his hands for a moment before turning back, getting right in Sherlock's face as he shouted something. Sherlock looked quite confused at that.

Jim lumbered away from him, looking as though he were mocking the detective. He turned back around, spreading his arms wide. Melissa was fairly certain he was informing Sherlock of the uselessness of the 'key', of how he managed to break into the three places at once.

Sherlock stared into the distance, looking confused, before everything seemed to settle. He walked to the edge of the roof, looking over the side. Jim moved beside him, watching Sherlock's face. In a sudden movement, Sherlock grabbed Jim by the collar of his coat and spun him so that her brother's back was facing the edge. Another shove and he was over it.

There was a quiet conversation and Sherlock pulled Jim back up to safety. He just grinned at the entire affair, peering back over the edge.

Sherlock stepped past him and onto the ledge, looking down. Jim glanced up at where Melissa was standing, smiling at her, before looking back at Sherlock. Whatever the man asked him next upset him, as Jim looked sizably more upset as he walked away.

But when Sherlock started to laugh, Jim spun around again. The man hopped off the edge, grinning in victory, and started circling Jim himself. When he paused, he was in Jim's face, their eyes locked.

Jim gave half a laugh and lifted his hand, looking as though he were about to embrace Sherlock, but then lowered it to be a shake. Sherlock slowly raised his hand to meet it, Jim nodding all the while.

The next moment happened in slow motion for Melissa.

Jim grinned, opened his mouth wide, pulled Sherlock closer, stuck a pistol in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.

Dead.

Dead.

No.

No.

He couldn't

This wasn't

Dead.

Dead.

Jim was dead.

Jim had killed himself.

Jim had won.

Jim had left her.

Dead.

Dead.

She couldn't breathe.

It felt like she'd heard the gunshot right next to her because her ears were ringing.

Everything was ringing. Everything was wrong.

This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't how the confrontation was meant to end. This wasn't what Jim was supposed to have done.

He wasn't supposed to go.

No.

~M~

The funeral had to be for Richard Brook in order to maintain the illusion and neither Melissa nor Seamus could attend. Not that he'd wanted to; Jim and Seamus hadn't been close on a good day and Seamus didn't like having to continue to lie about his brother's identity.

Though, Melissa didn't actually talk to Seamus about it, so she wasn't certain about what he thought. Immediately after Jim's death, she retreated into the shadows, into the best hiding as was possible for her, which was quite a lot.

Someone was going to try to take charge of the organization, replacing Jim. Melissa didn't want it to be her.

She couldn't do what Jim did, she knew that. She couldn't be her brother. But whoever did want the throne wouldn't want her living. They'd still see her as a threat, those who knew that she and Jim were related, which were thankfully not many. A lot of people knew her as a connection to the empire, which meant she wasn't a threat, especially if they wanted her to continue her role, but there were a few people scattered about who'd determined that they'd been siblings.

Really, if she'd wanted to, she could have continued life as normal, but she decided to be as safe as possible at least until she understood how the situation was progressing.

Jim may have been willing to die, but Melissa had no such death wish. Even once Jim had left her.

So she had to hide. She set someone to run the restaurants, telling the business that she was going to travel the world for an undetermined length of time, and went into hiding with Sebastian.

They did travel the world together a bit, trying to pick which of the people vying for the throne she would side with, if her word had anything without Jim beside her.

But very quickly they started hearing rumors of a particularly tall and deductively skilled man who kept solving crimes and interfering.

The world knew that Sherlock Holmes had fallen from Bart's roof. Melissa had thought that, even in death, Jim had won.

It appeared that wasn't the case.

Sherlock had survived.

Sebastian had needed to keep Melissa from going to murder Sherlock herself. She wanted to destroy the man for what he'd made her brother do.

Because, after all, Jim couldn't have wanted to leave her. He couldn't have wanted to die. She would have known if he wanted to die. They were twins, she knew everything about him. If he'd really wanted to die, if he'd really gone to that roof with the intention of dying, she would have known.

He wouldn't have kept that a secret from her. He wouldn't have dared.

His death had to be an accident. Sherlock had to be responsible.

He had to die. She had to see him down, she had to make him win.

Sebastian started locked her into the room they were staying to keep her from going after him.

She hadn't been overly happy with him about that.

When he'd returned from retrieving food for them, he'd found her sitting on the bed, pen in hand and alcohol in the other.

"Melie," Sebastian said with a sigh when he saw her.

"I'm fine." She held out the glass for him. "Thought you might appreciate a drink."

"What?"

"I'm not in the mood for it."

"You can't honestly think I'd take anything from you in the mood you're currently in." He put down the bags he'd gotten.

"You think I'd poison you?"

"I think you'd drug me, Melissa, yes."

She swirled the glass. "And where would I have gotten drugs? You barely leave me alone, and I don't exactly go wandering the city."

"You're Melissa Brook," he said, as if that was enough of an explanation.

Her phone went off. "It appears one of my restaurants has been broken into. Shall we return to London?"

"Really?"

"The criminal underworld had no idea that I was Jim's sister for the entire time he was building it, there's no reason for that to change once he's dead. If our intelligence is correct, the few people who figured it out are not believed by their bosses, if they bothered to tell them at all. And Sherlock" she sneered the name, her grip on her pen tightening "is succeeding at dismantling anyone who's a real threat. London should be safe."

"And if I don't think it's safe?"

She pointed the pen at him. "Are you daring to contradict me, Seb? He isn't going to risk coming to London, not yet." At the moment, Sherlock was the most likely threat to her life, as one of the few people who both knew her identity and had the power to go after her himself. "We're going back to London."

"Or we could wait until a full year has passed."

"I need to maintain my image, Sebastian. I've been out of the public eye for too long."

"You're not going back to London."

Melissa stood. "I am still your boss, Moran. If I say we're going back to London, we're going back to London."

"I'm still your security. You should listen to my advice."

She moved forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I'm your boss. You do as I say. You do as I want." She lifted herself onto her toes, closer to his face level. "You are mine." She kissed him before he could speak, pressing herself entirely against him.

But Sebastian pulled away as soon as he could. "Melissa, no."

Melissa leaned back. "Really, Seb? No?" She stepped back from him, still holding the glass and the pen. "Did you like Jim more than me?"

He sighed. "Melie..."

"Did you?"

"I miss him too, Melie, that doesn't mean I liked him more."

"If you missed him, you'd want his killer dead."

"Sherlock didn't kill him."

"He's responsible." She jabbed his chest with her pen. "If it wasn't for Jim's obsession with him, Jim would still be here."

"You know that's not true."

"I know my brother. I know him better than anyone else in the world. He killed himself because of Sherlock." She stepped back. "I'm going back to London. You can come with me or not."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you're fired."

Sebastian actually blinked at that. "What?"

"I don't have time for people who don't do as they're told, not now."

"Melissa, don't be stupid." She clenched the hand holding the glass hard enough that it actually shattered in her hand. "Fuck!" Sebastian darted forward, grabbing her hand. "Melissa!"

"Don't fucking call me stupid." She wrenched her hand from his grasp. "If you won't come to London with me, get out. Now!"

Sebastian didn't wait long before leaving the room. Melissa stood motionless for some time, her eyes closed, before she worked to wrap up her hand as necessary. Thankfully, she was mostly ambidextrous – stronger right, but she could learn to write perfectly with her left – so it wouldn't be too annoying if she'd seriously injured her hand.

She had a plan.

And because she was Melissa Brook, she would succeed.

~M~

Given the fact that Mycroft dropped the files he'd been carrying, he did not expect to see Melissa for the first time in over a year – the last time they'd spoken face to face was when he visited her in a hospital bed - sitting at his desk. "Is that a pen in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

"How did you get in?"

She touched her pen to her lips. "Surprise."

He collected the files he'd dropped. "Why are you here?"

"Someone tried to kill me. I think it was your little brother." Mycroft didn't look at her. "I don't appreciate being targeted."

"My little brother is dead."

She lifted her eyebrows. "Then there's another tall dark haired deductive genius dismantling my brother's criminal empire." The pen returned to its position twisting between her fingers. "By the way, in case you were wondering, I wasn't the one attempting to maintain it. Looking for someone to ally myself with, yes, as you might have guessed, but I didn't attempt to take over myself."

"Why not?"

"It was always my brother's project. I was only passingly involved. Didn't want to risk my public persona just to maintain it." She gestured towards one of his guest chairs. "Please, take a seat."

His turn to lift his eyebrows. "You're in my chair."

She rocked back. "It's very nice." When he fixed her with a look, Melissa stood. "All yours, your majesty." He stepped back to allow her the necessary space to move around the side, trading spaces, though she actually sat down. "Because of your little brother, there no doubt will be other people attempting to find me. We both know that he'll likely start spreading the rumor that I'm Jim's sister, and what certain people will do with that information."

"Why does this concern me?"

"I was hoping you don't mind me asking for another favor."

His turn to rock back. "What are you suggesting?"

"Protection." A pause. "Once everything has calmed and your brother has finished destroying the web, I will be willing to use any skills I possess in order to assist the British government in any manner I can."

"Really?"

"I am all Seamus has left."

"I had no idea that you possessed such an ability to care." They both knew it was a joke, especially from someone she'd called the Ice Man. "I believe I'll be able to arrange something for you."

Melissa smiled. "And how soon would this be?"

"How soon do you need it?"

"Today."

Mycroft's eyes widened. "Today?"

"Moran has left London and while I am confident in my own ability to use a gun I am aware of how dangerous of a position I'm in if I'm on my own." She held up her wounded hand.

"You're really in that much danger?"

She paused twirling the pen, an action Mycroft's gaze flickered to. "Despite not being deeply involved, I am well aware of the type of people my brother dealt with. Some of them are attempting to hold onto the connections he set up despite Sherlock's attempts to dismantle it. Some are even vying for the throne. If I'm set up as a threat, which I have no doubt Sherlock will attempt to do, then there is no reason to suspect they won't attempt to kill me to remove competition."

Mycroft nodded. "And you've come to me for protection."

"Considering you are one of the few people in this world that I would consider a friend, yes."

"Friend?"

"Yes, Ice Man. Friend." The pen began to twist again.

 **A/N: Aw, Jim has died. We all knew it was coming, but now, honestly, Melissa gets to have a lot more fun.**

 **I wanted to have a quick note just mentioning that a lot of what Melissa has said and will say is a lie, both to herself and to others. Just in case you notice some distinct inconsistencies :) It will be discussed later, but since this chapter features one big lie to Mycroft, I thought it was valid to mention now.**


	7. Goldfish and Us

**Goldfish and Us**

In the end, Mycroft decided that the best place for Melissa to live was with him, as she guessed. He escorted her to his home himself, though he warned her that it wouldn't be a permanent solution. He wanted to establish how much danger she was in himself, but that would take a bit of time. Thankfully, she could monitor the restaurant empire from his home, so there was no need to leave, and his home was well guarded with various security measures that she would be perfectly safe.

"You have a wonderful home," Melissa commented as they walked through one of the hallways, this one marked by its collection of portraits. "I could never convince Jim to purchase something similar. Perhaps if I had, we wouldn't be in this position."

"You're certain Moran has left London?"

She trailed a finger along the frames. "Considering I was the one who ordered him to leave, yes." Mycroft sighed at that. "Lover's tiff."

"Sounds like more of a tiff."

"Quarrel, then."

They paused before a door. "You can stay here, for now."

It was clearly a guest room, but one of sizeable quality, even featuring a large window. "Thank you, Mycroft. Approaching you was not my ideal course of action." She stepped into the room past him, dropping the bag she'd been carrying on the floor and taking the two he'd held for her as well. "Is there a wing of the house I must not enter? A rose that an enchantress cursed you with?"

Mycroft smirked. "I'd be less shocked if you had a rose hiding somewhere. You can go wherever you like, so long as the door is unlocked. No picking locks."

Melissa's turn to smirk. "A pity. That was my plan for this afternoon." She pulled out her phone. "The Wi-Fi?" He held out a hand for her phone, but she shook her head. "Please, Mycroft. Just because you've let me into your home doesn't mean you're let into my phone."

"I thought you weren't running his empire."

"My restaurants still function as they did before. We still offer secrecy to our clients."

He glanced down at her injured hand. "What did you do?"

"Broke a glass in the previously mentioned quarrel."

"And you said you're normally not violent."

Melissa shrugged, smirking.

~M~

When Mycroft stepped into his bedroom after a long day, he did not expect Melissa to be there. More specifically, he didn't expect for her to be asleep horizontally across the bottom end of his bed facing the door. Or holding a gun in such a way that, if she was woken suddenly, she'd immediately be able to shoot whoever was entering the room.

He didn't quite know what to do, though he did move to the side to avoid getting shot. "Melissa?" she didn't move. Slowly, he moved forward, coming to sit on the side of the bed next to her. She had looked like she needed sleep when he'd found her in his office, he did admit that.

Mycroft was well aware of what a terrible idea it was to have Melissa Brook herself staying in his own house, especially with Sherlock knowing of her involvement and apparently actively trying to kill her.

If he discovered that Melissa had spent any time in Mycroft's home, even that he and Melissa had anything more than a passing causal relationship, Mycroft wasn't certain how his brother would react – a strange experience for him.

Though he knew that Sherlock would laugh at the thought of Mycroft having a 'friend'.

Melissa had used that word. Allies, they'd agreed upon that about a year previous, but he would never have normally gone to friend. He'd never gone to friend.

Mycroft Holmes didn't have friends.

But you didn't let allies stay in your house. You especially didn't let allies who were the twin sister of the dead head of a criminal empire stay in your house after a fight with their security/lover because your little brother had the potential to pose a threat to them.

Did you let friends?

Mycroft didn't know. He wasn't his brother, he'd never had them before. Perhaps this was what it was like.

Because Melissa wasn't a goldfish. She was far beyond. She wasn't as twisted as her brother, but she was as clever. Cleverer than Sherlock, certainly, if she'd managed to outwit his attempt on her life, for he had the impression that it had occurred after she'd ordered Moran to leave London.

There weren't many people smarter than Sherlock. Normally, Mycroft used that as the qualifier. And Melissa was.

He knew she saw the world like goldfish too. She'd mentioned it once, in passing, soon after her identity as Moriarty's sister had been revealed. An observation at a gala when they'd stood together, watching the crowd. So obviously set off from everyone, so obviously above.

"How do you pretend so well?" she'd asked him, mumbling it as she lowered a glass from her lips.

"Pretend what?"

"That you're not surrounded by goldfish." She'd sneered the last word. "Look at them all. Thinking they're all clever, but their minds...they're just so small. So simple. So dumb. So easy to play." She'd chugged her glass at that point and strode forward, passing it to a nearby waiter before smiling brightly and stepping onto the arm of some foreign dignitary, Mycroft hadn't bothered to remember whom.

He could see that moment in her face now, the flash that had occurred right before she stepped away. A distinct isolation, a not entirely self-induced separation from the rest of humanity.

"Melissa." He touched her shoulder that time and Melissa shot up, gun in her hand immediately going to his forehead. He lifted his hands, but she didn't move the weapon. "Melissa."

She blinked. "Is that the first time you've ever said my name?"

"Gun."

"Say it again."

"Melissa." She didn't lower the weapon. "Why are you here?"

"The door wasn't locked."

"That's not an answer."

"Your bed is nicer." He lifted his eyebrows. "And I had something that I wanted to ask you." A pause as she lowered the gun, though she kept it in her hand. "Have you ever had sex?" The question seemed to have the desired response of his confusion, given Melissa's quick grin. "It's one thing Jim and I could never determine. Your brother was easy, but you...I always wondered."

It was a testament to Mycroft's high opinion of Melissa that he actually answered. "Yes."

"It is a wonderful stress release, isn't it?" She shifted into a position where she wasn't leaning on her injured hand, ending up closer to his eye level. "A wonderful way to pass the time. Though it is never really enjoyable with normals."

"Moran is a normal, then?"

"Regrettably so." Melissa seemed to be considering him. "Everyone's a normal to us."

Because they were an us. He could admit that.

Did his face take on that isolation in sleep? A separation? What did she see when she looked at him?

He wasn't lonely. He had no need for people, for others. For lessers.

Melissa wasn't lesser. She was the first actual equal that Mycroft had ever encountered. Even her brother had been something...different. But Melissa...

"What are you suggesting?"

"Aren't you curious?" Melissa moved so that she could touch his cheek, looking as though she was still considering him. "To find out what it's like?"

There was some base physical attraction present, Mycroft was self-aware enough to recognize that. Melissa was attractive and countless of her previous comments – combined with this current situation – indicated that she felt the same way about him.

"Really?"

Melissa moved closer, almost as though she was going to kiss him. Almost as though she wanted to. "No." She pulled away and fell back on his bed, leaving him still sitting there. "No, Mycroft Holmes."

He watched her close her eyes and it occurred to him what day it was. What had happened one year ago that day.

"And the penny drops," she mumbled.

"Is that why you broke into my office?"

"I didn't want to be alone." She sat up again. "I didn't know what I'd do." There were tears in her eyes, though Mycroft was fairly certain Melissa had yet to realize. "He killed himself on our birthday, you know. Worst present he'd ever gotten me. And one year he got me a dead cat, which I was allergic to."

"Do you need anything?"

Melissa was quiet for some time, simply staring at his face. Considering him again. "I need a friend." But she pushed herself off his bed. "Good night, Mycroft. Thank you for this."

He said nothing as she closed the door behind her, only rubbed his hands down his face.

~M~

The next time Melissa encountered Mycroft, she was in his kitchen.

Everything was progressing smoothly and to plan.

Mycroft had let her into his home, he trusted her, he believed her.

Wonderful.

Because Melissa was going to get back at Sherlock. She was going to make him pay for being responsible for Jim's death. She was going to kill him.

Because Sherlock was responsible. He was, Melissa knew it. Jim wouldn't have killed himself if it wasn't for Sherlock. Melissa would have seen the signs if he'd been suicidal before, she knew she would have. He was her brother, she wouldn't have missed something like that.

It had to be Sherlock's fault. It didn't matter what Sebastian had said, Sherlock was responsible. If it wasn't for him, Jim would still be alive. They wouldn't have had to bury him.

She would have still had him with her.

"What are you doing?" Mycroft asked from behind her.

"You have nothing in your fridge." She closed the door, gesturing at the various leaflets. "And not the best taste in takeaway."

"I don't do much cooking."

"Better for someone with weight troubles to cook their own food. Easy to keep track of the ingredients." She looked over her shoulder. "I have known you for over ten years. To your credit, you have mainly been able to keep the weight off."

Melissa let herself enjoy the expression of annoyance on his face. "I'll be gone for the day. Entertain yourself."

"Likely be taking a call with our mutual acquaintance."

"He lets you do calls?"

"I'm a special case." She smirked. "I think I'm his favorite." Mycroft shook his head slightly, turning to leave. "Have a good day at work, honey bee!"

She heard his scoff.

Everything was going according to plan.

Sherlock was going to pay. Melissa didn't care how long it took, but she was going to do it.

And Mycroft was none the wiser.

He was under the impression that they were on equal footing. And, for a time, for the longest time, Melissa had agreed. But not anymore.

She knew when she was fooling someone.

She knew when she was winning.

~M~

Melissa was fairly certain that Mycroft avoided returning to his home for as long as she possibly could just to avoid interacting with her. She didn't really matter, as it gave her some long awaited for privacy.

She'd enjoyed Sebastian's company for the most part, but he was quite tiring when he was your only companion.

The man did contact her at one point, asking where she'd gone.

She didn't respond. Not yet. When she was ready, when her position and alliance with Mycroft had been solidified, she'd let Sebastian return to her service.

After all, he was one of the few people alive who knew the majority of her secrets. She did have to keep him on as short of a leash as she could.

She did tell Magnussen where she'd gone to stay, which had amused him to no end. She wondered if he'd added Mycroft to the list of pressure points she'd never seen.

If he honestly thought Mycroft was one for her.

Because she'd very much like to know herself.

She'd called Mycroft a friend and he hadn't disagreed, but she had no other experience to compare it with. She didn't know what actual friends were meant to act like together. Anyone she'd become close to at school had been means to an end, like all her relationships were.

When she'd been particularly young, she'd thought that's what friendship was. She'd thought everyone saw the world as connections to be made, opinions to be shifted. She thought everyone understood exactly how to get everyone else to do exactly as they wanted.

She didn't quite remember when that opinion had shifted, but she stopped calling people friends then. Gave every impression of friendship, yes, but she'd never meant it if she said it, which was as little as possible. She made people want her friendship, crave it. She made them want her approval.

But when she'd said it to Mycroft, she'd meant it. Or, at least, as close to meaning it as she could get.

When Mycroft did return, Melissa was sitting at his admirable dining table flipping through a file she'd found lying about. He entered the room like he'd gone looking for her, which pleased her. "Where did you get that?"

"Oh, this little thing?" She flicked to another page. "Found it lying in a drawer."

"You went snooping?"

"It wasn't locked." She looked over the top of the files. "Be careful about your phrasing, Mycroft Holmes. I've been laying traps for over a decade." He strode over and took the files from her, as Melissa didn't put up any sort of fight. "Any progress?"

"I've arranged a security team for you, as well as a safe house in what I believed was a fitting area of London for someone of your social standing."

She smirked. "Does that mean I'll be leaving you soon?"

"Tomorrow."

"Well then," she stood and ended up, as Mycroft hadn't moved back, standing quite close to him. She'd neglected to wear any sort of heels that day, so he remained about half a foot taller. "We'll have to make the night last."

"What do you have in mind?"

She stood on her toes – still not enough, but better. "Do you have a games night with Sherlock and Eurus?"

"What?"

"I found a few board games." She shrugged. "Jim and I never got into them. Never really saw the appeal. And Seamus had his own friends, so..."

"How much snooping did you do?"

"You don't need to worry your little head about that." She pat his chest. "I'll be gone by tomorrow."

"Yes, you will."

"Regretting it? Fearing you'll miss my company?"

Mycroft looked down and lifted his hand, taking her injured hand and stepping back to look at it better. "You didn't change the bandages."

"Couldn't find them."

Mycroft sighed. "Come with me." He kept a hold on her wrist to keep her from wandering off, bringing her to the bathroom connected to his bedroom, which he had locked after returning to find her inside. He unwrapped the bandage over the sink, sucking in a breath when he saw the state of it.

Honestly, Melissa had mostly forgotten about the injury. She'd shifted to only using her left hand without thinking about it, letting her brain auto-pilot that section of her life. As such, it hadn't really hurt.

She'd meant to remove the rest of the glass from it once she located tweezers and use some sort of antibiotics, but she'd been so focused on creating her own plan to take down Sherlock that she'd forgotten.

"I did think you were right-handed," he mumbled, studying the wound.

"Ambidextrous." She wiggled her left hand. "Jim was only left-handed; he was always jealous."

"Clean it. I'll find you new bandages. And a tweezer."

"Thank you."

Once he'd found the things, he took her hand again, using the tweezer to begin to remove more of the glass. "Why didn't you do this yourself?"

"Forgot." She shrugged. "It's been a very strange series of days."

"I wouldn't have expected this of you."

"You speak as though you know me." Mycroft glanced up at her at that point. "You may be clever, Mycroft, but so am I. Never assume that the person I project is who I truly am."

"I would never dream of doing such a thing." He finished, handing her antibiotic cream. "I don't believe you'll need stitches."

"Wonderful." She set about applying it before wrapping the bandage around. "I did mean to ask you earlier. How is your little brother?"

"I'm not certain."

"You're not in regular contact with the high-functioning sociopath who's meant to be wandering around dismantling a criminal empire on his own?" She smirked. "Though, I suppose if you were, I wouldn't have needed to be here."

Mycroft suppressed a snort. "You, out of all people, should not call someone else a sociopath." He helped tighten the bandage, checking she'd wrapped it properly.

"Have you ever killed anyone, Mycroft?"

He stilled. "That is not something I'm going to be sharing with you."

"Now, was that the answer of a man who hasn't and is too ashamed to admit it in his line of work, or the answer of a man who has and is too ashamed to admit it to himself?" She stepped closer. "Worried I'd use it against you?"

"Not when you owe me three favors."

A hand on his chest. "I do have some ideas about how I can start fulfilling my side of those."

"And I think we have very different ideas."

"Are you sure?"

Mycroft took a step back. "Get some sleep, Melissa."

 **A/N: Mycroft & Melissa bonding! I will say, I didn't intend for this story to be so Mycroft focused when I started, but it just fit so perfectly...though, I really should have guessed it, since he is my favorite character...after Moriarty ;)**


	8. Minor Position in the British Government

**A Minor Position in the British Government**

The flat that Mycroft arranged for her was, honestly, quite fitting. It had a higher quality of security than any flat she'd stayed in previously, as well as a constant security team. Melissa was used to that, though it normally used to just be Sebastian or someone he appointed. As time had gone on, sometimes she wouldn't have had anyone, but she had the sense that Mycroft wouldn't risk that now.

She did have the sense that she was partially being treated as a prisoner, but she knew that wouldn't last forever. Mycroft would grow to trust her completely soon, though she knew that she would likely have to wait for Sherlock to return to London for that to happen in its entirety.

She was fine with that, of course. Her plans for Sherlock didn't involve running after him through Europe.

He would return to London eventually, and Melissa would be here waiting for him. Waiting by Mycroft's side to make him pay for Jim's death. Because he was responsible.

Melissa was only in her new flat for a day – overseeing the transfer of her belongings, as they'd been kept in a storage unit for her while she'd been gone for the previous year – when Sebastian appeared in her bathroom. Thankfully, none of the security team actually entered her home with her personally, but there was enough security around that she was still essentially being watched at all times.

"What are you doing, Melissa?" he asked, seated on the edge of the bathtub. "What the fuck do you have planned?"

She closed the door behind her, leaning back against it. "Well, I guess the security isn't as impeccable as they appear."

He didn't look amused. "Tell me what you're doing."

"I thought I fired you."

"Then I'm requesting you hire me again."

"What makes you think I will?"

Sebastian stood and, in very few long strides, had Melissa pressed back against the door with one hand above her head. "What are you doing?"

"I'm surviving, Moran."

"By siding with a Holmes?"

"Mycroft's not my enemy. He wasn't Jim's either."

"He had Jim arrested!"

"And he hasn't arrested me for the two bodies he could link to me if he wanted." That made Sebastian blink. "I can't hire you back, not yet. I can't display any link to my brother's endeavors."

Sebastian shook his head. "Who are you?"

"I am Melissa Brook. And I intend to win." She lifted herself closer to his lips. "Who are you?"

He pressed his forehead to hers. "I am Sebastian Moran."

"And?"

They didn't do much talking after that.

~M~

In order to maintain her innocence – as Melissa would likely have been arrested if anyone else found out about her identity – Mycroft managed to keep her from going in front of a committee, vouching for her qualifications himself. He did make it very clear that should anyone ever have even the slightest inclination who her brother was, he wouldn't do anything to protect her.

She did ask, cheekily, if Sherlock counted, but Mycroft claimed that, until Sherlock returned and he spoke to his little brother personally, he would work to keep her out of his brother's radar. Apparently, that didn't count as another favor.

Thus, she was able to reenter society almost as though she hadn't left. Anyone who'd never heard a rumor about her connections asked about her travels, and those who had asked if she'd still be able to help them.

She warned that it might take longer than before, but she'd be happy to help them to a certain degree. It would certainly be a bit more difficult without her brother's empire to draw on or turn them to, but Melissa knew something similar would form in the void, no matter what Sherlock did to stop it. She also had a few channels of connection of her own that she'd reformed, with Mycroft's approval – most things she did now had to be approved by Mycroft personally.

For now, she would give him reports, and he would do what he willed with the information.

Though, part of her tasks included dealing with their mutual acquaintance, as he was quite pleased that Melissa had returned safely. He'd mentioned letting her visit Appledoor, which Melissa was honestly looking forward to.

If she wasn't directing people towards her brother's empire, she needed something else to wield over people. Nothing illegal, of course, she'd be as careful as possible about that to make Mycroft's job easier.

After all, she needed to keep him happy with her until she'd made Sherlock pay.

Then she didn't really care what he thought about her.

At least, that's what she told herself.

She'd been back for half a year when Mycroft called her with a specific request. "Sherrinford has called."

Melissa actually laughed out loud about that.

~M~

The fact it was close to Christmas when Melissa flew to Sherrinford with Mycroft gave her an endless amount of amusement. She kept asking him if someone had replaced the nativity set that both she and Jim had broken when they'd last been here. Or if the government had some long division they needed doing.

He'd given her a smile for it, said the governor had put a new one in the room, and claimed that it wasn't long division.

That time, instead of being escorted to a conference room to meet with Mycroft and have the situation explained, Melissa was immediately brought to Eurus's cell. She was warned again about Eurus's ability to 'reprogram people', but she didn't put much stock into it yet.

Eurus was standing waiting for her when Melissa walked up. "I will say, I'm honored."

"I was sorry to hear about your brother." Eurus looked to the side at the camera. She'd requested five minutes unsupervised with Melissa. "He didn't mention the stationmaster."

"Yes, Jim does tend to forget Seamus."

Somehow, Eurus knew when the camera feed cut out.

The five minutes had begun.

~M~

When Melissa emerged from Eurus's cell, Mycroft was watching her carefully, as though he would be able to spot that Melissa had been reprogrammed.

If Melissa had, she didn't know it herself.

Jim had helped Eurus with her own game for Sherlock, though Eurus's had relied on Sherlock surviving Jim's. She'd had him record clips for it, though she hadn't needed Melissa to do the same.

Apparently, Eurus had determined what Melissa would want from Sherlock, which was impressive. She knew that Sherlock was responsible for Jim's death, that Melissa would want to punish him.

And she gave Melissa a wonderful way to help her do it.

"Your sister is truly lovely," Melissa told Mycroft. "Brilliant at the violin."

"She played violin for you?"

"Unsupervised, remember?" Melissa tapped his chest as she passed him. "Not going to tell you what we discussed. Are you prepared to leave?"

It took Mycroft a moment to follow her. "Has Moran returned to London yet?"

"I don't know. I'm not in contact with him." She turned, walking backward. "May I have my phone back, by the way? I do hope you kept your promise and didn't look at it."

Mycroft held out the phone. "Moran called you."

"He still has my number. That doesn't mean I've ever called him back." She shrugged. "I don't want an employee who doesn't obey me."

"Moran was still your employee?"

"He was our head of security, yes. Once Jim died, he hadn't gotten paid, but he was living quite comfortably wherever we stayed."

"Because he stayed with you?"

She smirked. "That's a very personal question, Ice Man."

He stepped close enough to whisper to her, Melissa turning again. "You asked me if I'd had sex or killed anyone, Ms. Brook. I still have quite a few personal questions to ask you."

"But you already know the answer to both of those questions. We're not on an equal playing field."

"I'm certain I'll come up with some questions to ask you."

They were on the beach at that point, alone other than security, and Melissa turned so that she was against Mycroft again, sizeable heels almost matching their heights. "Mycroft Holmes, you're trying to seduce me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Because it's not working." She tapped his chest, laughing.

~M~

Melissa had just taken a seat at her desk when her phone went off. "Yes, Ice Man?"

"We have Moran in custody."

If she'd been standing, she would have collapsed. "What?" He said it in the same tone that he'd told her he'd captured Jim over two years ago, and she had to restrain from continuing with her own previous response.

"He was caught attempting to break into your flat."

"Where is he?"

"I don't think it wise-"

"I don't care what you fucking think is wise, Mycroft Holmes. Where the fuck is Moran?"

He sent her the address.

~M~

Mycroft was waiting for Melissa when she arrived at the building they were currently keeping Moran in. He said nothing, only led her inside. She'd read the files that they had on Sebastian before; there were a few crimes and deaths over the years that he was suspected to be responsible for – one of which was functioning as the security for criminal mastermind Moriarty.

Just like he could for Melissa, Mycroft held things over Sebastian.

Sebastian was tied to chair in the center of a room with a one-way window. It was that second room that Melissa and Mycroft stepped into, though she had to restrain herself from reacting too much at the state of him. Clearly, Sebastian hadn't gone down without a fight, as she'd suspected.

"What are your plans for him?"

"Questioning."

"Torture?" Mycroft shot her a look. "I know what you did to Jim, Mycroft, don't forget that."

"Do you have any helpful tips about how to deal with Moran?"

"He's not going to reveal anything, if that's what you mean. He won't play you like Jim, don't worry, but there's nothing you could do to him to make him talk." Sebastian was staring directly into the one-way window as though he knew they were there. "I'm going to talk to him."

"No, you're not."

Melissa's turn to shoot him a look. "He was my employee for almost a decade, Mycroft. Perhaps I'll be able to convince him to tell you what you need."

"Why would you do that?"

She smiled. "Don't worry, you can watch. I won't help him escape just yet." She didn't wait for him to say anything before leaving that room, passing the guards to enter Sebastian's.

The moment he heard the door open, his head shot towards her. "Melie."

She put a finger to her lips. "We have an audience, Moran, remember that."

"Are you going to get me out of here?"

"Sadly, I'm not the one with that sort of power." She stepped closer, touching a bruise on his cheek. "They're going to attempt to make you talk. I warned them that it wasn't worth it, but..." she shrugged.

He pulled his face away from her touch. "Then why are you here?"

"I wanted to speak to you myself." She moved to block Mycroft's view, standing right in front of Sebastian, though he'd still be able to hear what she said. "Wanted to see you."

"You're a fucking idiot, Melie."

She slapped him for that. "That is why I'm not going to fucking help you, Seb." He spat at her feet, just missing her shoes. "I would have fucking shot you for that if I'd been allowed a weapon."

"Pity you're not trusted with one."

She grabbed his jaw, leaning close. "Tread carefully with what you say, unless you want me to be even more disappointed with you when you're released."

"What makes you think I will be?"

"I've seen your file." She stepped back and turned to leave.

"And if I tell them something that lands you here too?"

Melissa didn't look back at him. "Then you'd be even more of a fucking idiot than I thought you were."

The door had just closed behind her when two of the guards grabbed Melissa's arms. She managed to have enough sense not to say anything as they deposited her in a room identical to Sebastian's, though they didn't tie her down. They did handcuff her left arm to the chair, knowing that, since she'd messed up the healing of her right hand, it was too stiff to do much with.

She just crossed her legs and waited, wishing she'd been allowed to bring a pen this far in.

It was longer than she thought necessary before a man she didn't recognize walked in. "I hope you're here to offer me an explanation for why I've been treated this way." She pulled on the handcuff.

"We have some questions for you."

"Was this Mycroft's idea?"

He moved forward and slapped her before she could react, stepping out of the way of her formidable heels. "You will answer my questions, or you will be punished."

"I will kill you myself when we're fucking done here, that's what I'll do." She got hit again for that. "I know I'm into BDSM, but consent is a requirement." She glanced at the one-way mirror. "Are you a voyeur, Mycroft, because that would explain everything." Back to the man. "A friendly warning; I am not going to tell you anything that I don't want to share. It really isn't worth the effort."

He seemed to receive a message in an earpiece as he paused, listening, before leaving the room.

Melissa just leaned back in the chair, closed her eyes. "Téigh Dtí Diabhail, a thóin mór." She flexed the hand that was handcuffed, wondering if Mycroft was aware of how irritated she was quickly growing.

If he really understood how dangerous she could be if she was angry at you.

And she was really fucking angry at Mycroft Holmes right now.

By the time the door opened again, Melissa had actually thought of about a hundred different ways she could kill the man who'd hit her twice. She'd honestly hoped that he'd be the one to come in just so that she had another chance to hit him in the balls, but it was Mycroft himself.

"You do know that I'm going to fucking punch you the first chance I have, Mycroft fucking Holmes."

"Even if I'm not responsible?"

"There had better be a good fucking explanation for what's happened, then."

He stopped in front of her, also taking care to keep out of reach of her heels. "One of my colleagues received intel from an anonymous source about your involvement in Moriarty's empire."

"Does the anonymous source's name start with 'Sher' and end with 'lock'?"

"I am going to attempt to get you out of here with as minimal damage as possible."

"Oh, I'm touched." She sneered. "I will kill someone if they lay another hand on me."

He allowed himself a small chuckle. "I wouldn't expect any less of you. Do you need anything? Water?"

"Unless you're willing to volunteer yourself to being kicked in the balls, no."

Mycroft shook his head, moving to leave. "I will do whatever I can to get you out of here as quickly as possible."

"You'd better do it quickly, otherwise I will start doubting how much power the man who supposedly 'runs the British government' actually has."

He closed the door, but she barely had to wait a minute before someone new entered the room.

She had the distinct impression that they'd been listening in on her conversation with Mycroft because the first thing they did was remove her heels and strap both of her feet to the base of the chair. She bit the inside of her mouth to keep from saying anything.

Jim had the ability to be silent when he wanted, part of his general skill and tendency for theatrics. Most of the time she could do it too, but the angrier she got the harder it was.

And she was quite angry now.

~M~

Melissa didn't know how long she was in the chair before Mycroft reentered with a key. She'd been sitting with her eyes closed, the handcuffed hand tapping on the arm of the chair as it was the only one she could move with that much dexterity.

"They're done."

She said nothing and he stepped forward, unlocking her left hand. The moment it was free she shot forward, grabbing the front of his jacket and pulling him down. "I am going to snap your fucking neck, Mycroft Holmes."

"Don't make me drug you." He pulled himself from her grip, bending down to unstrap both of her feet. Then he helped her up by his elbows, though she stepped out of his support the moment she was standing. "Melissa."

"I don't need your help."

"You'd still be in that chair without my help." He held out a hand.

She made a point by not taking it. "If they went through my phone..."

He walked past her. "To my knowledge, they tried."

"Trying indicates they didn't succeed."

He held the door open for you. "If we couldn't get into Irene Adler's phone, do you think we'd be able to get into yours?"

She smirked at that.

~M~

Though Mycroft got Melissa released, he didn't do the same for Sebastian. Honestly, Melissa was a bit worried that Sebastian would reveal something incriminating about her that would put her in a situation Mycroft wouldn't be able to help her out of, but she tried to stay confident in Sebastian's loyalty – if not to her, but to Jim.

Because of the injuries she'd sustained, she'd had to stay out of the public eye for a while as she healed. The one person she met with was Magnussen, who seemed slightly personally offended that she'd been treated like she had. They also discussed Sherlock, who Magnussen agreed was responsible for leaking Melissa's connection.

He did question Melissa on everything she knew about Sherlock, which she was happy to provide. Mycroft really wouldn't be happy to learn how much she'd shared, but she really didn't care.

He'd upset her.

Sadly, one of the main drawbacks of working with Mycroft and the British government was the fact that Melissa was no longer permitted to shoot people when she got upset. She'd asked Mycroft about it almost right after he'd gotten her released and he'd just given her a look that was effective in stopping her from asking about it ever again.

Didn't stop her wanting it, but she didn't bring it up to Mycroft again.

She'd been forced to just go to a shooting range and attempt to take out her frustrations there, but it didn't have the same feel. It wasn't as effective.

Really, the one person Melissa wanted to shoot was Sherlock. It was slightly infuriating how long it was taking for him to finally return to London and she couldn't keep asking Mycroft about where he was and how much longer he'd be gone.

She just wanted him here so that she could see his fucking face as she made him suffer for taking Jim from her because, after all, she was fully confident in her ability to arrange for his death while he wasn't in London.

If she'd just wanted him dead, she could have killed him whenever she wanted, no matter the fact she was working for Mycroft. But she didn't want him dead, not yet.

She could wait. She would wait. She had to wait.

There were a few moments, as the months passed and another anniversary of Jim's death – and their birthday – neared when she was questioned in a far less violent manner. She was just brought to a room and questioned by either an individual or a panel of people, which she was fairly certain was supposed to have happened when Mycroft first began integrating her into an official position. Mycroft had vouched for her in the beginning, but with whatever new information Sherlock had given them was enough that they wanted to be certain about her.

Thankfully, Mycroft had made it such that no one had definitive proof that she was Jim's sister, but they had enough evidence of her being heavily connected with his empire that quite a lot of questioning needed to be done.

Not fire her, thankfully. She kept her office, she just kept having people escort her to private rooms.

However, it seemed as though Sebastian hadn't told them anything, as they almost never had any new information and what they had wasn't complete enough for Sebastian to have said it.

More likely, Sherlock was somehow sending information as he discovered it, as Mycroft had yet to sit down with his little brother and give him a proper explanation.

That was one thing Melissa wanted to be present for. Just to see Sherlock's face as Mycroft told him that yes, she was Moriarty's twin sister and yes, Mycroft and her had been in regular contact for a little over a year before she both stayed in his home and he got her a job for the government.

It would be quite something to witness.

 **A/N: Melissa has met Eurus! Sebastian has been captured (in my little attempt to call back to his arrest in the original Empty House story)! Melissa was interrogated - the Irish she says, to my best understanding, roughly translates to "go to hell, fat arse". Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong; I've learnt French and Latin, but not Irish.**


	9. The Virgin Returns

**The Virgin Returns**

Melissa wasn't the one who found Seamus's body. No one did, actually for about five days, according to the coroner. The only reason he was found at all was that there was a smell complaint from his neighbors and his landlord broke in.

He'd killed himself.

Shot himself.

Didn't leave a note.

But Melissa knew why.

The police had just concluded that Richard Brook was a fake identity created by Moriarty. That meant that, to Seamus, both of his siblings had been lying to his face for years. The only family he had left had been lying to him.

That he was the little brother of a criminal mastermind.

Melissa hadn't contacted him the moment the news came out to give him time to process it. She knew that Seamus wouldn't go to the police or the papers with Jim's real identity. He'd never liked that sort of attention. He'd never reported anything, even when he'd seen the two of them doing questionable things as children.

Seamus liked to keep to himself, despite his strong conscience.

She did wonder if he still would have done it had she called. If the moment Mycroft told her that part of the news about Jim's identity would be coming out she'd called her little brother and told him herself. Would that have helped? Would it have stopped him?

It was a bit harder to blame his death on Sherlock, but Melissa did it. Seamus wouldn't have died if Jim hadn't died, and Jim wouldn't have died without Sherlock.

It was Sherlock's fault.

She was able to attend Seamus's funeral – closed casket. It received as minimal media attention as possible, a simple affair. A few people from the military and his work came to say their respects, but Melissa didn't talk to any of them for longer than necessary.

Admittedly, Melissa was less sad about Seamus's death than Jim's. She'd never been close to her little brother, only really doing as little as she needed to be socially accepted. He was a 'friend' that she was expected to have.

That was one thing Melissa had always admired about Mycroft. He cared about his siblings. Actually, honestly cared about them. Sure, he kept Eurus imprisoned, but he visited her, he called her. He was concerned for her.

Melissa couldn't say the same about herself.

~M~

Melissa received word that Sebastian had been moved to a different secure facility shortly after, which had her down shooting whatever she could.

Without him, shooting things was one of the only stress release measures she could. There was nothing else powerful enough to give her any sense of pleasure. After all, no matter what Melissa had once told Jim, while she could have had anyone she wanted to, she didn't want anyone but Sebastian when she thought about it.

Especially when she was unable to kill anyone.

She was quite a fan of the pleasure that came from sex and while she found people aesthetically attractive, she rarely found someone that she actually felt sexually attracted to. Sebastian had been one who'd lasted the longest – in the past, she'd stop finding people attractive as time passed – but she'd had to share him with her brother.

Upon receiving the news that Sebastian wasn't going to be released anytime soon, Melissa did go looking for someone else to release her stresses with. Casual sex had never been something she'd partaken in, but it was an adventure, especially when Mycroft mentioned that it'd be wiser not to.

She'd told him that unless he allowed her to shoot someone and watch them bleed out, she'd do this how she wanted.

He'd recommended meditation.

She'd recommended he shut his fucking face.

He'd given her a yoga pamphlet.

Melissa ended up sitting in her office reading a file that Smallwood – one of Mycroft's, and now her's, colleagues – had given her earlier. Now that Melissa had even been given her own code name – Honey, because she was 'so sweet' – she was trusted with various new things, though there were still a few things she wasn't permitted to see.

One of which was where Sebastian was actually being held.

But, soon, Mycroft had said he'd get her onto the committee surrounding Jim and his empire, as she had the most experience with it. There were a few more people who had to be more convinced that she wasn't going to use the information against them, but Mycroft had promised her it'd be soon.

"Friendly warning," Mycroft said, appearing in her doorway. "I'm off to rescue little brother."

She looked up in actual shock. "You're going into the field yourself?"

"I'll be gone for a few days. Will send word when returning. Try not to kill anyone while I'm gone."

"Just ruined my plans for tonight." She smirked. "Why's he coming now?"

Mycroft tossed a file to her. "Terrorist cell. London's terror threat is critical. Make notes of anything you figure out."

She saluted him. "Have fun."

He left with a nod, Melissa swapping the files.

Sherlock Holmes was coming back to London.

It was a good day.

~M~

Mycroft sent Melissa word when he and Sherlock had arrived back in London. She made a point to stay nearby, hoping that Mycroft would wait until she was there to tell Sherlock about her.

In fact, as time went on and she waited for them to return from wherever he'd ended up finding his brother, she decided she'd just be sitting in Mycroft's office when the two brothers entered. She did have another excuse for being there – turned out she knew a bit about the suspected terrorists and it'd been agreed Melissa should tell Mycroft herself – but she knew that Mycroft wouldn't be too happy to see her there.

She didn't really care. She wanted to see Sherlock's face herself.

However, it was Mycroft who entered first, alone. He didn't look overly surprised to see her there. "Really?"

"Have you told him yet?"

"I mentioned we had one of Moriarty's security in custody."

"But you didn't mention you'd given his twin asylum in your home and gotten her a job where she had constant access to classified information?" She held up the file he'd given her. "Like this."

"Do you know anything?"

"Luckily for you, I have a few leads based on whispers I've heard." She crooked her finger at him. "Come here and I'll give you a treat."

Mycroft shook his head, but he did take the file from her, taking a seat behind his desk to read through her notes. The fact he didn't order Melissa to leave meant she was quite happy to stay right where she was, waiting for Sherlock's arrival.

Once Mycroft finished reading through her file and updating what he would be giving to Sherlock, he glanced up at her. "Are you just sitting there doing nothing?"

"There's no need for me to read those," she nodded to the files Mycroft had brought in discussing Sherlock's most recent discoveries of Moriarty's network. "I already know about that branch of my brother's empire." If she was being honest, she'd never known the true extent his empire had reached – a fact Mycroft knew – but she'd been told enough over the years that someone like her could make connections no one else could. It was why she was so useful to the government.

"Not curious how effective Sherlock's been?"

"Where'd you rescue him from?"

"Serbia."

Melissa nodded. "Then he's practically dismantled it all. Not that nothing will reform in the absence, but..."

His phone went off. "He's here."

"Shall I conveniently just be leaving as he walks in to force you to tell him?"

"If you want to be difficult."

"Being difficult is my middle name." Melissa stood. "Uživaj, Ice Man."

Mycroft sighed. "You know Serbian?"

"I know conversational Serbian, Russian, French, Chinese, Greek, Latin..."

"Yes, I get the point."

"Next time you get prepared for the field, you should ask if I know the language first."

"I would not send you to extract Sherlock."

She pouted. "Oh, you keep ruining all of my fun." The door to the office opened and Melissa, sculpting her expression into a surprised amusement, turned to Sherlock. "Ah, the infamous Sherlock Holmes has returned."

It greatly amused her how shocked he was to see her standing there in his brother's office. "What are you doing here?"

"Yes, I suppose the person who kept attempting to get me arrested would be a bit surprised to see that you'd failed." She moved closer. "You really should have looked into growing a beard. Would have really" she gestured at his face and mess of hair "fit."

Sherlock looked to Mycroft. "She's Moriarty's sister!"

"Yes, I'm well aware," Mycroft nodded. "She works for me now, Sherlock."

"With you, actually, since we're now colleagues, but that's a debate of semantics for another time." She shot a grin back at Mycroft. "Thanks to your interfering, I did get tortured and questioned, so count yourself successful on that front, if you'd like." Her phone made a noise and she glanced at it. "And I'm afraid I must leave you." She looked to Mycroft. "Our mutual acquaintance has requested a call." She moved towards the door. "Welcome back to London, Virgin." With a little wave, she left the office, dialing Magnussen as she walked.

She'd gotten what she wanted; Sherlock's expression was quite enjoyable when he saw her again. Everything she'd imagined.

~M~

The next day, after Sherlock had had a few hours back in Baker Street working through any information Mycroft had given him, both Melissa and Mycroft ended up there to discuss anything he'd determined so far. Mycroft had given him a warning that she would be coming as well, but he hadn't given his brother a chance to say anything against it.

He'd wanted to hear anything she could tell him about her and Magnussen's conversation and they'd still been in the car discussing it as he headed towards Baker Street.

The pair of them walked up to 221B together, finding Sherlock's normal wall of maps, images, and paperwork surprisingly sparse. The man himself was still in his dressing gown. "Mycroft."

Melissa crossed her arms. "I don't even get a hello?"

"Melissa, will you please make us some tea?" Mycroft said, not looking at her.

She scoffed. "You boys have fun." She turned, off to find Mrs. Hudson as she had no plan on making tea herself.

After a few minutes of forced socialization with Mrs. Hudson, who seemed so amused with the thought that Mycroft and her were friendly that Melissa found herself liking the woman a bit more, Melissa returned to the upstairs flat.

What she found was the two men playing, of all things, Operation.

Sherlock was in the middle of speaking. "...know something's up – like rats deserting a sinking ship."

"All very interesting, Sherlock," Mycroft said, "but the terror alert has been raised to Critical."

"Boring. Your move."

"We have solid information. An attack is coming." He glanced at the board game and Melissa leaned against the doorway of the kitchen, observing them. Sherlock had noticed her arrival, but she was fairly certain Mycroft hadn't yet.

"'Solid information'. A secret terrorist organization's planning an attack – that's what secret terrorist organizations do, isn't it? It's their version of golf."

"An agent gave his life to tell us that."

Sherlock shrugged. "Oh, well, perhaps he shouldn't have done. He was obviously just trying to show off." Melissa smirked at that.

Mycroft seemed to be holding back a sigh. "None of these markers of yours is behaving in any way suspiciously?" he glanced down, making a move. "Your move."

He glanced down. "No, Mycroft, but you have to trust me. I'll find the answer. It'll be in an odd phrase in an online blog, or an unexpected trip to the countryside, or a misplaced Lonely Hearts ad." A click. "Your move."

Mycroft glanced down. "I've given the Prime Minister my personal assurance you're on the case."

"I am on the case. We're both on the case. Look at us right now."

There was a buzzing and a flash of red light as Mycroft failed. "Oh, bugger!"

"Oopsie!" Mycroft dropped the piece again. "Can't handle a broken heart – how very telling." Sherlock sat back with a smug expression.

"Don't be smart."

"That takes me back." He pitched his voice. "'Don't be smart, Sherlock. I'm the smart one.'"

Mycroft glowered at him for that. "I am the smart one."

"I used to think I was an idiot."

Mycroft sat back. "Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on 'til we met other children."

"Oh, yes. That was a mistake."

"Ghastly. What were they thinking of?"

"Probably something about trying to make friends."

Mycroft nodded. "Oh yes. Friends. Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now."

Sherlock eyed his brother closely. "And you don't?" he looked up to Melissa. "Ever?"

"If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I'm living in a world of goldfish."

Melissa laughed out loud at that word, which had Mycroft shake his head as he realized how long she'd been standing there.

Sherlock steepled his fingers. "Yes, but I've been away for two years."

"So?"

He shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. I thought perhaps you might have found yourself a..." he fixed his gaze on Melissa "goldfish."

Mycroft looked some combination of disgusted and annoyed. "Change the subject – now!" he stood and moved to the fireplace.

"I happen to have Mycroft's personal assurances that I am no goldfish." She sneered the word.

Sherlock smirked. "Rest assured, Mycroft – whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre."

Mrs. Hudson entered the room with the tray of tea things Melissa had left her with. "Speaking of which..." Mycroft mumbled, making Sherlock smile.

"I can't believe it," Mrs. Hudson said, putting down the tray. "I just can't believe it! Him – sitting in his chair again!" she looked to Mycroft. "Oh, isn't it wonderful, Mr. Holmes?"

"I can barely contain myself."

"Oh, he really can, you know."

"He's secretly pleased to see you underneath all that..." she pulled an expression that somehow matched both of the brothers.

Mycroft frowned. "Sorry – which of us?"

"Both of you." She left the room.

"Let's play something different."

Mycroft sighed. "Why are we playing games?"

"Well, London's terror alert has been raised to Critical." He flailed his legs and stood. "I'm just passing the time. Let's do deductions." He walked over to his dining table, picking up a random hat that'd been sitting there. "Client left this while I was out. What'd you reckon?" he tossed it to his brother.

"I'm busy."

"Oh, go on. It's been an age."

Mycroft sniffed the hat. "I always win."

"Which is why you can't resist."

"I find nothing irresistible in the hat of a well-travelled anxious sentimental unfit creature of habit with appalling halitosis..." Sherlock grinned widely. "Damn."

"Jim and I just dissected frogs; this is far more fun," Melissa called. "Anyone have any popcorn?"

"Isolated, too, don't you think?" Sherlock continued.

"Why would he be isolated?"

"'He'?"

"Obviously."

"Why? Size of the hat?"

"Don't be silly. Some women have large heads too." Sherlock blinked. "No – he's recently had his hair cut. You can see the little hairs adhering to the perspiration stains on the inside."

Sherlock looked into the hat, pouting. "Some women have short hair, too."

"Balance of probability."

"Not that you've ever spoken to a woman with short hair – or, you know, a woman."

"I'll have you know that Mycroft and I have had several invigorating conversations. At least one of which occurred on his bed."

"Stains show he's out of condition, and he's sentimental because the hat has been repaired three, four..."

"Five times." Sherlock threw the hat back to his brother. "Very neatly." He started to speak quickly. "The cost of the repairs exceeds the cost of the hat, so he's mawkishly attached to it, but it's more than that. One, perhaps two, patches would indicate sentimentality, but five? Five's excessive behavior. Obsessive compulsive."

"Hardly," Melissa interrupted, making both brothers look at her. "What sort of obsessive compulsive would leave it behind?" Sherlock blinked at her. "I'm not a deductive genius like the Holmes brothers, but even Mycroft will admit that I'm clever."

Mycroft tossed the hat back, though his slight nod confirmed her statement. "The earlier patches are extensively sun-bleached, so he's worn it abroad – in Peru."

"Peru?"

"This is a chullo – the classic headgear of the Andes. It's made of alpaca."

Sherlock smirked. "No."

"No?"

"Icelandic sheep wool. Similar, but very distinctive if you know what you're looking for. I've written a blog on the varying tensile strengths of different natural fibers."

Mrs. Hudson reentered the room for a moment, holding a teapot. "I'm sure there's a crying need for that."

Sherlock looked partially offended at her comment before turning back to Mycroft. "You said he was anxious."

"The bobble on the left side has been badly chewed, which shows he's a man of a nervous disposition, but..."

"...but" Sherlock talked over Mycroft "also a creature of habit because he hasn't chewed the bobble on the right."

"Precisely."

Sherlock sniffed the hat, grimacing. "Brief sniff of the offending bobble tells us everything we need to know about the state of his breath." He turned away. "Brilliant."

"Elementary."

"But you've missed his isolation."

"I don't see it."

"Plain as day."

"Where?"

"There for all to see."

"Tell me."

"Plain as the nose on your..."

"Tell me."

Sherlock spun around. "Well, anybody who wears a hat as stupid as this isn't in the habit of hanging around other people, is he?"

"Not at all." He shrugged. "Maybe he just doesn't mind being different. He doesn't necessarily have to be isolated."

"Exactly."

Mycroft blinked several times in his confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"He's different – so what? Why would he mind? You're quite right." He perched the hat on top of his head. "Why would anyone mind?"

Mycroft opened his mouth but seemed to be unable to find a word for a moment. "...I'm not lonely, Sherlock."

Sherlock tilted his head, stepping closer. "How would you know?" he gave a pointed look between Melissa and Mycroft before taking off the hat and turning away.

"Yes. Back to work if you don't mind. Good morning." He moved towards the door. "Come along, Ms. Brook."

Melissa sighed. "Here I was thinking you'd finally decided to use my name."

As they left, Sherlock winked at Mrs. Hudson, who grinned.

"You and Sherlock are very amusing to watch going at each other," Melissa commented as they reached the downstairs. "Were you always like that?" Mycroft just shook his head. "Sherlock does seem to have taken the news well."

"I believe he's convinced himself that one of us has hidden feelings for the other."

"I mean; you did tend to my injured hand." She slid into the car after him. "For you, that's practically a proposal."

 **A/N: Sherlock has returned! Fun times ahead! Though, of course...poor Seamus...**


	10. Pride Will Destroy You

**Pride Will Destroy You**

The fact that the person responsible for the terrorist plot ended up also named Moran was a source of great amusement for Melissa. After a bit of research, she determined that he was Sebastian's cousin, which had her wishing that Mycroft would permit her to visit him for the simple point of asking why he'd never mentioned he had a cousin who was a Member of Parliament.

She was surprised that she hadn't actually already known it, though she didn't put it past Jim having known it.

It wasn't long after Sherlock's return when Mycroft decided that she should be sent to the field in order to meet with a certain branch of her brother's empire that had started contacting her again. He hadn't seemed happy to send her on her own, but bringing anyone even remotely connected with the government would be too suspicious.

She'd never visited this compound herself, but she'd met with the head before.

But when she arrived in the facility, Melissa instantly knew something was wrong.

She'd just taken out her phone to send word that she needed immediate extraction when someone grabbed her from behind and pressed a cloth her mouth and nose. She fought for a moment, but the drug was effective and she blacked out almost instantly.

~M~

When Melissa came to again, she was hanging by her chained arms over her head, feet just barely brushing the ground. They'd removed her hidden gun and appeared to have searched everywhere else if the places she could feel the cold air on her skin was any guide. She was turned to face the wall opposite the door, but she couldn't spin herself around.

Oh, she was going to fucking kill every single fucking person in this facility. She didn't even care what Mycroft had to say on the subject.

"So kind of you to come when we called," the person spoke with a strong accent, but she had the feeling they knew she didn't wasn't fluent in Korean – she knew enough of the language to hold phone calls and have the intended meeting, but not enough for the torture they clearly had planned. "We were worried that you'd forsaken us."

"Don't worry, you're my favorite torturer." The woman walked in front of Melissa. "We could have had this conversation over tea and biscuits."

"You will answer my questions, or I will hurt you."

"Yes, that is generally how torture works." She rolled her neck. "Why have you decided to do this now?"

"Moran was compromised."

"Which Moran? I happen to know two."

"Your pet."

"Ah, Sebastian. Did you know, his cousin was recently involved in a terror threat. Violence seems to run in the family."

The woman punched Melissa in the gut, making her swing. "You will not speak unless spoken to."

"Moran has been arrested for a year," she groaned slightly as she spoke, unable to help herself. "Surprised you've just decided to act now."

"Keep being smart and I'll hurt your pretty face." The woman drew a knife from her hip, touching it to Melissa's cheek. "Do you understand?"

Melissa clenched her jaw, but she said nothing.

This was infuriating.

"Sherlock Holmes is back in London."

"Yes, he is."

The woman cut along her cheek bone. "I have some questions about him."

Melissa had to physically stop herself from laughing.

~M~

Melissa quickly found herself wishing for the torture and questioning she'd experienced at the hands of the government. She somehow managed to keep herself from making too many 'smart' comments so her face wasn't overly wounded, but they'd soundly bruised her abdomen and injured at least one of her knees.

Thankfully, they'd recently grown satisfied by what she could tell them about Sherlock and what Sebastian had revealed, as apparently he'd been involved with them in the time since Jim's death, so they'd given her a break.

Not that they'd let her roam free, they'd just lowered her so that she could rest her knees on the ground, which was a form of torture of its own.

She didn't know how long she'd been here, though she did know that they had no intention of releasing or killing her just yet. They hadn't known she was Jim's sister, thankfully, but there was still information about Sherlock and other things that they wanted to attempt to get out of her.

After enough time had passed, Mycroft would send someone to look for her, she knew he would. But she didn't know how long he would wait for that.

She attempted to flex her hands, but the right one barely moved. They'd discovered that she'd previously injured it and worsened it the last time she'd been 'smart', meaning they'd messed up the nerves and left it completely numb.

Very thankful for her ambidextrousness now.

When the door opened again, Melissa let her head hand and pretended to be asleep.

"You're in quite a state."

Her head shot up. "Sebastian?"

"The one and the only." The man in question came into her field of view, looking terribly worse for wear. "Mycroft sent me."

"Mycroft sent you?"

"Broke me out, gave me a tracker." He smirked. "Thought you would be less likely to kill me instantly."

"Considering you're part of the reason I'm here, I might still kill you."

"Good to know you haven't changed too much." He stepped forward, unlocking her wrists. She immediately fell forward, Sebastian managing to catch her before she actually collided with him. He helped her stand, letting him support her.

"Please tell me you have a gun for me." She cradled her numb hand against her chest.

"Mycroft did specifically tell me not to give you one."

"Don't tell me you've suddenly decided to listen to him."

Sebastian handed her a gun. "Don't worry, Melie."

Melissa sighed. "I have fucking missed you, Seb." She grabbed his jacket and pulled him into a kiss, taking as long doing that as she wanted. "Now," she pulled back, grinning. "Let's kill some fuckers."

~M~

Sadly, even Sebastian didn't let Melissa do much killing, though he did let her kill the woman who'd seemed to be in charge of the torturing.

That was quite satisfying.

She did find herself pausing at various points to explore the man she hadn't seen for an entire year. She'd once told Mycroft that Sebastian was a normal, but that hadn't been entirely correct. Sebastian wasn't overly clever, but he was no goldfish.

She wasn't attracted to goldfish.

There wasn't a medic in the small plane that he'd come in, but Sebastian had the necessary materials to begin to tend to her wounds. He seemed most worried by her right hand and the fact it looked highly likely she might never feel anything with it again.

Once they arrived at the airport, Sebastian supported her out of the plane, having put a cast on her knee. Mycroft was waiting on the runway, umbrella in hand, with two uniformed agents behind him, clearly for Sebastian. "Wanted to ruin my fun by not giving me a gun, did you?"

"How are you?"

She held up her right hand. "Turns out your efforts to help tend to the original wounds were for naught." She adjusted her weight, Sebastian shifting to help her. "How long was I away?"

"A week."

"It took you a full fucking week to get me out of there? What, did you take your sweet time deciding if I was really a worthwhile enough asset?"

"I wasn't the one who needed convincing."

She sighed. "I need a fucking drink, Mycroft Holmes. Now."

He nodded. "Do you need help walking?"

Melissa was extremely tempted to say that no, she didn't need any fucking help from him, but she knew the moment she attempted to take a step on her own she'd just collapse. "Are you sending Moran back to prison?"

"You're not in the position to negotiate for him, Ms. Brook."

"I'm not planning on negotiating, I'm just asking."

"He will be returning to where he'd been held previously."

"I'd recommend you stop questioning him." She switched to Mycroft's support, the man letting her use his umbrella also as support. "Considering part of the reason they did that was because of what he'd told them." She glanced back at Sebastian, whom the agents had already converged upon. "I'm sorry, Seb."

"Glad to see you safe, Melie."

Melissa had to turn away then, walking with Mycroft to the nearby building. "How long did you wait before deciding to send someone after me?"

"Two days."

"What did you think I was doing for two days when the meeting was only meant to take a few hours?"

"Vacationing."

She scoffed. "Please tell me you're joking."

"Were you able to determine what they wanted to know?"

"Apparently Moran had revealed certain things recently and they were a bit upset. And they wanted to learn more about your little brother."

"We have sent agents to dismantle them."

"Took you long enough."

He held the door open for her. "Our mutual acquaintance contacted us while you were away."

"What did he want?"

"Apparently you were meant to meet for lunch."

She nodded. "Yes, we'd had one scheduled for this week."

"Does he hold anything over you?"

"Not that he's mentioned. I think he just likes to chat with someone so remarkably clever." She smirked at him. "Though you're not one to criticize blackmail, Mycroft-who-I-owe-three-favors."

~M~

Melissa quickly learned that Sebastian managed to negotiate with Mycroft that, in return for going to rescue Melissa, the pair of them would be permitted visits. Part of her was tempted to deny him just because he had the balls to assume she would want to continue seeing him, but the fact was...he was right. She wanted to see him.

Thankfully, Mycroft agreed, though he made Melissa promise not to arrange it until she was a bit more healed. He also enlisted her in physical therapy as her knee healed - since it had healed stiff - and for her right hand. Again, she was tempted not to go to spite him, but Melissa honestly had no plan to walk with a crutch for the rest of her life.

The only good thing about the entire affair was that Melissa had been able to kill someone again. It was incredibly satisfying.

When the time of John's wedding approached – he was marrying a woman named Mary who Sherlock had never actually permitted Melissa to meet, not that she'd ever asked to – Melissa was shocked when she found that Mycroft had received an invitation. Not that the man was ever intending on going, but the fact that he'd been invited at all had amused her to no end.

He'd mumbled that he should never have told her in the first place, which had only amused her more.

However, a bit before the wedding, Melissa was shocked even more when, through Mycroft, she received word that Mary actually wanted to meet her. Melissa arranged a lunch meeting with the woman, accompanied by secret security arranged by both her and Mycroft.

Mary was waiting when Melissa walked up. "A pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Morstan." Melissa smiled at her.

"I could say the same about you, Ms. Brook."

Melissa took the seat opposite her. "Please, Melissa. Mycroft is the only one who insists on 'Ms. Brook'. I regret to say that I don't know much about you."

"I only know what Sherlock has said." Mary leaned forward. "John still doesn't seem to believe that you're his sister."

They were in her restaurant, but it was still safer not to say anything too specific, a fact Mary had caught onto.

"Well, I suppose it would be difficult to come to terms with the fact he both lived above one and saved the life of the other of his siblings."

"I am sorry about that."

"It happens. People move on."

Mary nodded. "Yes, I understand that you've quite moved on, working for Sherlock's big brother after all."

"He's quite fun. Very amusing to tease, I recommend it."

She moved a napkin towards her, having written a quick note to Mary almost the moment she'd sat down.

 _I do believe I've seen you before, R_

The moment Mary saw it, she stiffened.

 _Honestly, did you think his sister wouldn't be aware of reformed highly trained assassins?_

"You can't tell John."

"I won't tell anyone, don't worry. I have nothing to gain from it." She leaned closer. "No one would have mentioned it to you yet, but I happen to fuck a highly trained assassin of my own. Sebastian Moran. And knowing this about you has only made me like you more. I would love to continue meeting with you on the regular, if you would like."

Mary eyed her for a long while before nodding.

"Wonderful." Melissa took her hand. "Now, promise that you won't attempt to kill me for knowing this. I've had enough attempts on my life recently to last me a long while."

"Yes, I could tell." She nodded loosely at Melissa's right hand, which was one of the final noticeable signs of Melissa's time being tortured. The hand was scarred and she'd yet to actually move it. She also still walked with a bit of a limp, but enough makeup on her face made any scars there barely noticeable.

"Oh, these are from a recent attempt to learn more information about Moran and Sherlock Holmes." Her phone made a noise. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, but I've just been summoned for a call. I must leave you." She stood. "We need to do this again soon, Mary. Much to discuss." She smiled. "And don't worry, I have no proof. I just saw a file years ago. Far too much effort to go look for it." She took another napkin, writing her number. "Next time, contact me yourself. No need to go through Mycroft again."

"Do you think he'll come to the wedding?"

"Oh, I do wish he would, trust me." Melissa smiled. "Until next time, Mary."

~M~

On Melissa's birthday – and the anniversary of Jim and Seamus's deaths – she went to visit Jim's grave, which had been changed to Jim Moriarty instead of Richard Brook upon the news being released. She didn't bring him flowers, as neither of them had ever had any need for flowers. There were a few things left on the grave, seemingly from admirers of her brother's empire.

Melissa just touched it. She'd covered her face just in case she was spotted at his grave. "The Virgin will pay, brother dearest, I promise. I will destroy him."

Why couldn't he have faked it too? Why couldn't he have gone on that rooftop with a real plan for leaving it? Why couldn't he have loved her enough not to leave her?

It had been three years since Jim had shot himself.

Three years since her world had changed forever.

Three years since she'd been alone.

Three years since they'd thought he'd won.

But he hadn't. Not yet. Not while Sherlock Holmes still roamed the world.

Melissa didn't need to discredit him. Jim had already tried that, she already knew that it wouldn't do what she wanted.

She just needed to kill him. She just needed to watch him die like he'd watched Jim.

She just needed to win for him.

She just wanted to win.

Sometimes, Melissa did wonder what their parents would have thought about both her and Jim.

Both their mother and father, divorced, had died when they'd been young, though their father had died first. They'd lost him, named Moriarty, in a plane accident when Melissa and Jim were 16. Her mother had managed to keep it out of the papers for Seamus's sake, who'd only been 11 at the time. The man had never been remarkably wealthy and their mother had, years before, removed him from any of their official documents.

She'd wanted to remove him from her children's lives. Sometimes, Melissa wondered if she'd arranged the plane crash.

But then their mother had died seven years later from cancer. That had been well published in the papers, as her mother had been as much of a socialite as Melissa. And from then on, Melissa had taken her place.

She'd been 23 when she'd taken over the restaurant empire completely, though she'd practically been running it for the years her mother had gotten progressively sick. Almost instantly told to sell because no one had honestly thought that Melissa would be able to run it properly.

Melissa had shown them. She'd shown everyone.

She'd made her mother's restaurant empire into one of the most well-known ones in Britain. Everyone who was anyone knew the name Brook and, now, knew Melissa's face.

And everyone who was anyone knew that, if you asked, Melissa could get you anything you wanted. She'd handle it discreetly for you, make certain the public was none-the-wiser.

She liked to think her mother would have been proud. She had always honestly liked the woman, as much as Melissa could like anyone, of course. Her mother hadn't been a genius of any notable degree, but she'd believed in Melissa. She'd trusted Melissa.

Melissa liked to think she'd been the woman's favorite child. The clever one who'd played at being normal. Jim had never bothered to master the 'normal' for extended periods of time and Seamus had never had the 'clever'.

And that entire time, in the background and out of sight, Jim had started looking into putting his distinct ability to build webs into good use.

He'd started to build an empire of his own, taking their father's name so as to disconnect it from the restaurants. Made himself an identity that lived on its own and looked as real as Jim Brook.

But he'd never forgotten her. He'd never left her.

Until he died.

Melissa stepped away from his grave.

She didn't have time to wonder about dead parents. She needed to win for Jim.

She needed to win for her.

~M~

It was mid-September when Mycroft stepped into Melissa's office and closed the door, leaning against it. "Sherlock has a case against our mutual acquaintance."

Melissa stood immediately. "Why?"

"He didn't say."

No. This wasn't right. This wasn't how it was meant to go.

Melissa knew she was a genius, she knew that she knew how to read people and control people and make them into whatever she wanted. But she also knew that Magnussen was one of the few people she'd never even attempted to understand, to overpower.

Even she admitted he was a dangerous man to cross, though she was lucky in the sense that he had taken a liking to her all those years ago. She'd always been under the impression that he'd found her an equal, of sorts. Perhaps an apprentice. A student in the art of making people do what she liked.

"He's going to ruin himself for this," Mycroft spoke the sentence quietly.

"I'm not going to do anything to stop our mutual acquaintance."

He nodded. "I didn't believe you could."

"Oh, I have no doubt that I could." Mycroft frowned at her. "He likes me, Mycroft. I am fully confident in my ability to turn his attention from your little brother if I were so inclined, but that isn't what I'd need to do, and you know it. I'd need to stop Sherlock Holmes. And even you can't do that."

Mycroft said nothing as he left, but Melissa's phone went off as she did.

Magnussen.

He didn't mention the fact that Sherlock Holmes had begun to look into him, that he was the only man in London who had the chance to go up against Magnussen and do something, though Melissa had no doubt he'd lose.

Magnussen was something beyond Sherlock Holmes.

He was gorgeous.

Once upon a time, if Melissa were to tell the truth, she'd been frightened of Magnussen. Frightened of his knowledge and strength and ability to know everything about anyone.

At least, she'd thought she was afraid.

After a short period of examining her thoughts, Melissa determined that what she felt for Magnussen wasn't fear. It was far from it.

It was admiration. Jealousy.

He was exactly what she wanted to be.

So when this text mentioned that it was finally time for her to see Appledore, Melissa was elated.

 **A/N: Melissa was captured, Moran sent to save her, she met Mary AND she's been invited to Appledore. An exciting few days for her indeed ;)**

 **Notes on reviews:**

 _blackcat711: The best compliment this story could recieve ;)_


	11. Little Brothers Back From the Dead

**Little Brothers Back From the Dead**

Magnussen arranged for a private helicopter for her, though he didn't mention if Mycroft would be aware of the entire affair. She chose not to tell him but she didn't doubt Mycroft's ability to track where she, out of all people, went at all times.

Even if she wasn't Jim Moriarty's twin sister, he cared about her.

She liked to think he worried about her.

Magnussen waited for her when the helicopter landed outside of his impressively modern house. "Melissa," he said, smiling at her.

"I am truly honored, Charles."

He held out his arm for her to take. "Come. I'll show you around."

It was impossibly white inside, with a large interior garden. Quite impressive. Melissa could see herself there. She tended to dress in blacks and gold, but white was always a welcome addition, should she desire some variation.

"Now, Melissa." Magnussen paused, releasing her arm and taking a seat on the nearby large lounge chair, gesturing for her to join him. "Tell me the truth."

"I always tell you the truth, Charles."

No one dared call him his first name. But Melissa did. He seemed to like it.

"Do you truly believe that I have physical vaults here filled with sensitive information?"

She raised her eyebrows. "I am the twin sister of a criminal mastermind. I know that you don't." He smiled. "I presume it is some form of a 'mind palace', as my previous upstairs neighbor would describe it."

He nodded. "There's a reason I enjoy our conversations, Melissa." He used her name like she used everyone else's. It was slightly intoxicating to have it done to her. "You're so enjoyingly perceptive."

"I'm pleased you think so. Many do not acknowledge it as anything remarkable."

He leaned forward, their knees touching. "Oh, but it is. It must be, to play a man like Mycroft Holmes."

"Thank you, Charles." She smiled. "Smallwood has seemed particularly uneasy the recent months."

"Her husband unknowingly had an affair with a 15-year-old once."

"Claire-de-la-Lune?"

Magnussen's smile only grew.

~M~

Mycroft was not happy when Melissa next saw him, though the reason was not what she expected.

Apparently, his little brother had been shot.

Melissa had to resist the urge to break something.

Thankfully, he seemed alive and functioning, to some degree.

Melissa asked if Mycroft wanted her to visit Sherlock in hospital, a question that made him give her a look.

She just told him she was going to visit Sebastian instead, should Mycroft come across any reason to need her.

She and Sebastian hadn't actually seen each other since he'd rescued her from her kidnapping, as Melissa had been obeying Mycroft's request that she wait until she was more healed. Sebastian was in no position to attempt to contact her on his own, so he was simply left waiting until Melissa decided she was ready.

She decided that she'd waited enough.

Melissa found Sebastian waiting, still handcuffed, sitting on top of a table. He looked as though he'd been there for an hour, but he did look relieved when Melissa walked in. "Melie..."

She walked forward and put her hands on either side of him on the table, remarkably shorter than him because of it. "Hello, Sebastian."

"How are you?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Really, Seb? That's the question you're going to ask me?"

He slid off the table, evening out their height difference as best he could, and moved his arms so that they surrounded her. "I am so glad they didn't touch your face."

"Still can't feel my right hand, but I can move it somewhat now." She moved it to his side to make the point. "Healing slowly."

"I'm glad."

She pressed closer to him, bringing up her other arm to wrap around his neck. "Was Mycroft really so desperate that he was willing to make this deal with you in order to save me?"

"I was under the impression that he was willing to do anything to get you out of there." Sebastian frowned. "What is going on between you, Melie?"

"There is nothing."

"Nothing wouldn't make a man be willing to sacrifice anything in order to rescue you."

Magnussen had mentioned three of Mycroft's pressure points when she'd seen him.

One was Sherlock Holmes, his drug-addicted little brother.

One was Lina Holmes, his broken musician little sister.

The other?

Melissa Anabel Brook.

"There is nothing from me. I never said anything about how he's interpreted my actions." She pulled Sebastian down into a kiss, speaking into his lips. "Magnussen promised he'd work to free you."

"Really?"

"He understands the urges of an overindulged mind." She pulled back again. "Sherlock uses drugs, Mycroft exercises, and I fuck you."

"Is that all I am to you? Really?"

"Oh, no," Melissa smiled at him. A lie, but she was so well-practiced in telling them that sometimes she didn't even know if she was. "You, Sebastian Moran, are so much more."

~M~

If you were to ask Melissa Brook to tell you the truth, she'd smile and say she always did, now more than ever. She could lie in a way that fooled everyone, even the most intelligent people on the planet. She could lie in a way that even fooled herself.

Sometimes, she did worry about that. In her few moments of clarity, she worried that she was losing everything. That when Jim had gone, everything certain about Melissa had gone with him.

But once Sherlock was dead, once she'd won, Melissa was confident she'd fix everything again. She was confident that she'd know when she lied and she'd know what she meant and she'd know how everything was meant to go.

Once Sherlock Holmes was dead, everything would be right.

But she wouldn't have Mycroft.

How could she, once she'd killed his brother? How could the man ever trust her again? How could he ever look at her and see anything similar somewhere inside?

It was worth it. Melissa knew it was.

~M~

When the news reached them that Sebastian Moran had escaped, Mycroft immediately had Melissa brought to him. And when she said brought, she meant brought. He had guards escort her there and stand at the door, waiting for his order to cart her away.

"Really, Mycroft?" she asked him, as unbothered as ever. Pen in left hand, twisting. "Do you honestly think that I'd be able to arrange something like this? That I'd be bothered to?" She'd never told Mycroft that Sebastian was the only thing that really worked. That she could have sex with as many people as she wanted, but no one was as good as her own private assassin.

"I'm being serious."

"Don't worry, I never think you're anything but." She crossed her legs. "If you really want, I will give you the authority to look at my phone if it will convince you I'm telling the truth."

He raised his eyebrows. "I know you wouldn't conduct business like that on your phone, Melissa."

"Oh, using my name again. You mean business, don't you?"

"Stop it." Her pen stilled. "You need to convince me that you're not lying to me, Melissa, because there are quite a few people who are extremely angry that Moran has escaped."

"We are both well aware that he had other allies and enemies who are more than capable of getting him out of a government facility, no matter how high-guarded his is. Or, should I say, was."

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please."

"How would I convince you? Because, from where I'm sitting, it should be enough for someone like you for me to say that I had nothing to do with Moran's escape."

He stared at her for a long while, several minutes, before he nodded.

Melissa stood. "Thank you, Mycroft Holmes. Good to know you still trust me."

He said nothing.

~M~

It was Christmas when Charles Augustus Magnussen was killed. One of the worst presents Melissa had ever received.

When Mycroft finally saw Melissa again, he was in the process of working through arranging for Sherlock to not be sent to prison for killing Magnussen.

Because of course he was. Of course the man who would stop at nothing to destroy Magnussen had actually managed it.

Melissa wanted to shoot someone.

But that was a normal occurrence now. She didn't think she'd ever gone a day without wanting that.

Sadly, Mycroft didn't permit Melissa to visit Sherlock in the solitary confinement he was currently being held in, so she didn't get to take out her frustrations on him.

"I can handle the public if you'd like," Melissa said, stepping into the meeting room that a certain committee had been called into. Smallwood and Edwin looked at her in unease, as everyone was well aware by now of Melissa's connection with the newly murdered Magnussen, but Mycroft continued to look out the window he was standing before. "He did tell me certain things that will allow me to easily control the papers for you. I could even take Sherlock completely out of it, if you'd like."

Everyone – there were a few other men in the room – looked at Mycroft then. "As my colleague is fond of remarking, this country sometimes needs a blunt instrument," he said calmly. "Equally, it sometimes needs a dagger – a scalpel wielded with precision and without remorse." He looked to the side to Edwin, who was standing closest to him. Melissa had the distinct impression that Mycroft could see her in the reflection. "There will always come a time when we need Sherlock Holmes."

"If this is some expression of familial sentiment..." Edwin said to Mycroft, speaking carefully.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed. "Don't be absurd. I am not given to outbursts of brotherly compassion." He glanced at Melissa for a moment. "You know what happened to the other one."

And they all knew that he didn't mean Lina.

He returned to looking out the window. "In any event, there is no prison in which we could incarcerate Sherlock without causing a riot on a daily basis. The alternative, however..." he turned to where Smallwood was sitting "would require your approval."

She lifted her eyebrows. "Hardly merciful, Mr. Holmes."

"Regrettably, Lady Smallwood, my brother is a murderer." And then Mycroft looked at Melissa completely then, holding her gaze.

His brother may be a murderer, but he'd let a murderer into his home. He'd given a murderer a job deep within the British government.

He trusted a murderer.

Melissa nodded at him. She hadn't truly been lying when she'd said she'd be able to take Sherlock's name completely out of the press if they wished, it just wasn't Magnussen who'd given her those connections. The two of them had connected over blackmail, not his newspapers. However, she did have connections of her own deep within the press that would print whatever she wanted.

Though, she supposed, the existence of those connections was partially aided by her connection to Magnussen.

He simply wasn't the one who'd done the introductions.

~M~

If Melissa was going to be honest, she was a bit shocked that Mycroft permitted her to be on the tarmac as Sherlock prepared for his mission into Eastern Europe which would likely end in his death. It appeared that Mycroft really didn't want to let her out of his sight at the moment, a fact that Sherlock did not seem happy with.

"Just so you know," she told him, walking up beside Mycroft, "this is not how I planned to be saying goodbye to you, Mr. Holmes. I had quite a different circumstance in mind." She smiled. "Though, it will be quite lovely to no longer have you attempting to get me arrested. Gave your brother quite a lot of work in the process."

Mycroft sighed at that.

"Oh, and I can't thank you enough for killing Magnussen before he'd told me what my pressure points were. He was so close to giving me that information and I was quite curious to know it."

"He mentioned Mycroft's," Sherlock said, holding her gaze. "Me, Lina, and you."

Melissa looked to Mycroft like she was surprised, while the man in question looked as though he was attempting to keep his expression as calm as possible. "Oh, Mycroft Holmes, I'm touched!"

"Can you go wait in the car, Ms. Brook?"

"I'm not your child, Mycroft. Or your wife."

"Are you sure about that?" Sherlock mumbled.

"I would like to say goodbye to my brother in private." Mycroft looked at her then. "Please, Melissa."

She nodded. "Enjoy your chat, Holmes boys." As she walked off, another car pulled up carrying Mary and John, one of whom looked shocked to see Melissa there. "Oh, Mary," Melissa said, smiling, "we really must arrange a time for lunch again. Make up for lost time." She gave them both a little wave before continuing on, sliding into the car she and Mycroft had taken there. Thankfully, she didn't have to wait long for Mycroft to join her. "Very jealous that you get to say goodbye, by the way."

He looked at her. "What?"

"To your brother. What is it like to know you're sending him to certain death rather than having it sprung upon you?"

"You really didn't know?"

Melissa shook her head. "Either Jim had never planned for it to happen, never wanted it to, never dreamed it was possible, and made a split-second decision on that rooftop, or..." she let him finish the thought himself.

Especially because Melissa was almost certain which of the two options was what had happened.

Who was to blame.

Who was currently flying off to certain death, taking him out her hands. Stopping her from shooting him herself.

The two didn't get to talk much longer when Mycroft's phone rang. He listened for a moment, then frowned. He pressed a button beside him and turned on the car's screen, which revealed the face of a very particular man.

Jim Moriarty.

"Did you miss me?"

Melissa's mouth dropped open.

~M~

Mycroft Holmes's face went white.

No.

Melissa couldn't be responsible. He couldn't have been that wrong about her. Not someone like him. She couldn't have done this. She wouldn't have done this. He knew she wouldn't have. Not when she was sitting next to him, not when he could look directly into her eyes.

Someone else had to be responsible. Someone else had to be. She'd said, after all, and he'd known that something would reform in the vacuum left by the destruction of her brother's empire.

They'd always known that Moriarty had had fans. That he'd had supporters who would take up the mantle when he died. They'd thought they'd been prepared.

He'd thought he'd been prepared.

But then Jim Moriarty appeared on every television in the country.

Mycroft determined, very quickly, that he wasn't as prepared as he could have been.

"But that's not possible," he said, speaking without really processing what he was saying. "That is simply not possible." He didn't look at Melissa as he stepped out of the car, looking towards John and Mary in the distance.

Melissa, to her credit, stayed in the car, watching her brother's face, listening as his distorted voice continued to repeat that message.

"Did you miss me?"

She couldn't be responsible. He knew she wasn't responsible. No one could fake shock like that. Not even her.

Mycroft was forced to make a quick decision in that moment, one only someone of his position could make.

He called his little brother back.

It took a moment for a phone to be passed to Sherlock in the plane, but soon he heard his brother's voice. "Mycroft?"

"Hello, little brother. How is the exile going?"

"I've only been gone four minutes."

Mycroft forced a smile. "Well, I certainly hope you've learned your lesson. As it turns out, you're needed."

"Oh, for God's sake. Make up your mind. Who needs me this time?"

Now, Mycroft turned to look at the car again, turned to look at Melissa and her brother.

He hadn't seen them together many times, but every time he did he was struck by their similarities. "England."

~M~

When the plane landed, Melissa nearly stayed in the car as Mycroft, John, and Mary went to speak to Sherlock. But then Mycroft turned and gestured for her.

He really wasn't going to let her out of his sight now.

She was just glad he hadn't decided to handcuff her, but she supposed that would require admitting that he'd let Moriarty's sister deep into the government.

Even Mycroft Holmes wouldn't be able to get out of that one without some scratches. Especially now.

They came aboard as Sherlock stared at the plane's captain, an aspect of his appearance suddenly far more apparent than it had been only minutes before.

He was high.

"Well, a somewhat shorter exile than we'd imagined, brother mine, although adequate given your levels of OCD."

Sherlock had started breathing heavily. "I have to go back."

Mycroft frowned. "What?"

"I was...I was nearly there! I nearly had it!"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Go back where?" John shook his head. "You didn't get very far."

"Ricoletti and his abominable wife! Don't you understand?"

"No, of course we don't," Mary said. "You're not making any sense, Sherlock."

Sherlock closed his eyes. "It was a case, a famous one from a hundred years ago, lodged in my hard drive. She seemed to be dead but then she came back."

"What, like Moriarty?" John glanced at Melissa.

"Shot herself in the head, exactly like Moriarty," Sherlock nodded.

Mary took the seat opposite Sherlock. "But you've only just been told. We've only just found out. He's on every TV screen in the country."

Sherlock undid his seat belt. "Yes? So? It's been five minutes since Mycroft called." He looked up at his brother, not seeming to see Melissa in his current state yet. "What progress have you made? What have you been doing?"

John laughed. "More to the point, what have you been doing?"

"I've been to my Mind Palace, of course..."

John sighed. "Of course."

"...running an experiment: how would I have solved the crime if I'd been there in 1895?"

Mycroft's face fell. "Oh, Sherlock." He turned away from his brother, taking a seat across from him. Melissa moved to stand beside him, watching the supposedly brilliant detective.

She'd always been well aware of Sherlock's drug problem, but she'd never actually seen it in person.

"I had all the details perfect. I was there, all of it, everything! I was immersed."

Mycroft put his hands together on top of his umbrella, resting his chin on it. "Of course you were."

Mary, who'd taken Sherlock's phone from beside him, scrolled through it. "You've been reading John's blog – the story of how you met."

Sherlock nodded. "Helps me if I see myself through his eyes sometimes. I'm so much cleverer."

Mycroft shot a look at him. "You really think anyone's believing you?"

"No, he can do this. I've seen it – the Mind Palace. It's like a whole world in his head."

Sherlock nodded, seeming to grow increasingly frustrated. "Yes, and I need to get back there."

"The Mind Palace is a memory technique," Mycroft said. "I know what it can do and I know what it most certainly cannot."

"Maybe there are one or two things that I know that you don't." Sherlock held his brother's gaze.

"Oh, there are." Mycroft paused for a moment. "Did you make a list?"

Sherlock looked away for a moment, chewing on a nail. "You've put on weight. That waistcoat's clearly newer than the jacket..."

"Stop this," Mycroft snapped. "Just stop it. Did you make a list?"

"Of what?"

"Everything, Sherlock. Everything you've taken."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, turning his head away.

"No, it's not that," John tried again. "He goes into a sort of trance. I've seen him do it."

But Sherlock pulled a piece of paper from his jacket, dropping it on the floor. Mycroft looked up to John, who bent down and read it, his eyes widening. "We have an agreement, my brother and I, ever since that day. Wherever I find him, whatever back alley or doss house, there will always be a list."

John sat down across from Mycroft, still holding the paper. "He couldn't have taken all of that in the last five minutes."

Melissa sat on the armrest of the chair behind Mycroft's. "He was high before he got on the plane," she said, Sherlock casting her a lazy look of irritation.

"He didn't seem high," Mary said, typing something into Sherlock's phone.

"No one deceives like an addict," Melissa shrugged.

"I'm not an addict," Sherlock snapped. "I'm a user. I alleviate boredom and occasionally heighten my thought processes."

"For God's sake!" John said. "This could kill you! You could die!"

"Controlled usage is not usually fatal and abstinence is not immortality."

Mycroft glanced at Mary. "What are you doing?"

"Emelia Ricoletti – I'm looking her up."

"Ah, I suppose we should." Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother. "I have access to the top level of the MI5 archive..."

"Yep, that's where I'm looking." Mary smiled, not looking up.

Mycroft sighed. "What do you think of MI5's security?"

Mary raised her eyebrows, glancing at him. "I think it would be a good idea."

"Emelia Ricoletti," Melissa said, interrupting her. "Clad in her wedding dress, she fired two revolvers into the street and then shot herself in the head. A few hours later, a policeman spotted another woman in a wedding dress – identified by Mr. Ricoletti as his wife – shoot Mr. Ricoletti in the chest with another shotgun. Unsolved." Mycroft looked at her. "What, you don't think that I would have looked into other cases of people shooting themselves in the head and then appearing to come back to life? There were a few late nights where I hoped neither of my brothers had actually shot themselves."

"Could you all just shut up for five minutes?" Sherlock had closed his eyes as Melissa spoke. "I have to go back. I was nearly there before you stepped on and started yapping away."

"'Yapping'?" John scoffed. "Sorry, did we interrupt your session?"

"Sherlock, listen to me." Mycroft leaned forward.

"No," Sherlock closed his eyes again. "It only encourages you."

"I'm not angry with you..."

"Oh, that's a relief. I was really worried." He opened his eyes again. "No, hold on. I really wasn't."

The two brothers locked eyes. "I was there for you before. I'll be there for you again." Mycroft was speaking quietly. "I'll always be there for you." He looked down. "This was my fault."

"It was nothing to do with you."

"A week in a prison cell. I should have realized."

"Realized what?"

"That in your case, solitary confinement is locking you up with your worst enemy."

Sherlock sighed and buried his head in a hand. "Oh, for God's sake." He stayed there for a moment before his gaze shot up to John. "What did you say?"

"I didn't say anything."

"No, you did. You said...what is it today – morphine or cocaine?" Mary sat up at that, while Mycroft frowned. Melissa raised her eyebrows and John just seemed - poor baby - even more confused. "Holmes?"

Sherlock then proceeded to drop out of consciousness.

 **A/N: Poor Melissa. Always gets terrible presents, doesn't she? ;)**


	12. Samarra or Sumatra

**Samarra or Sumatra**

"You know," Melissa mumbled, "Jim would probably be thrilled that whatever this is made this happen to Sherlock."

"Shut up," John snapped at her, moving forward to stand over Sherlock.

"We all know that my brother isn't really back from the dead, and I have no desire to run anything without him," she told him. "Whatever is actually happening, whoever is actually responsible, you need my help to stop, so I'd recommend you not anger me, John Hamish Watson."

"How can you be so certain?" Mary asked her.

"Because I watched my brother walk up to that rooftop. I watched him shoot himself in the head. And a man I trust with my life, who loved my brother, saw his body afterward. There is no doubt that my twin brother is dead."

Sherlock chose that moment to jolt awake again, pupils dilated and gaze blurry, but he settled his attention on John. "Miss me?"

"Sherlock? You all right?"

'Yes, of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"'Cause you probably just OD'd," Mary said. "You sound be in hospital."

"No time." Sherlock tried to stand. "I have to go to Baker Street now. Moriarty's back." He stumbled into the aisle, attempting to keep balanced.

"I almost hope he is," Mycroft said, shaking his head, "if it'll save you from this."

Sherlock snatched the list from his brother's hand, ripping it in half twice. "No need for that now. Got the real thing. I have work to do."

He began to move again, but he paused when Mycroft spoke. "Sherlock. Promise me?"

Sherlock looked around the plane cabin for a moment before meeting Mycroft's gaze again. "What are you still doing here? Shouldn't you be off getting me a pardon or something, like a proper big brother?" He looked to Melissa, but said nothing, continuing out the plane, Mary and John following.

"Dr. Watson?" John stopped to look at Mycroft. "Look after him..." He gave a small smile. "Please?"

John nodded as he left.

Mycroft said nothing to Melissa, picking up the dropped pieces of paper and tucking them into a small notebook he kept in his pocket. Melissa couldn't see anything written in it before he tucked it away again and met her eyes.

"Going to have me arrested?" Melissa asked him, speaking quietly. "Going to have me tortured for answers? Because we both know there's no way you can possibly know for certain that I had nothing to do with this."

"There is a way." Mycroft stayed on his knees. "I trust you."

Melissa smiled. "Don't regret that yet, then?"

Mycroft smiled.

~M~

Despite the fact no one else knew that Melissa was Moriarty's sister, the majority of the government was aware she was heavily connected with his empire. Thus, Mycroft had to use all the influence he had in order to let her remain in the very particular committee surrounding Moriarty and Magnussen.

Essentially, her rank suddenly became, rather than one below Mycroft, equal to the man in question as priority level 'Ultra'. There were very few people who inhabited that level – as far as Melissa was aware, it was simply her, Mycroft, Smallwood, and Edwin.

And, unofficially, Sherlock.

They left Mycroft to escort his brother to the meeting room as the committee assembled; Smallwood, Edwin, and Melissa sitting at a table together, with some secretary to the side. Sherlock had a chair across from all of them and Mycroft, though he could have sat next to the three at the table, stood next to his brother.

"What you're about to see is classified beyond top secret," Mycroft turned so that his back was to them. "Is that quite clear?" he looked to the secretary. "Don't minute any of this." The woman folded her hands onto her lap. "Once beyond these walls, you must never speak of it. A D-notice has been slapped on the entire incident. Only those within this room – code names Antarctica, Honey, Langdale, Porlock, and Love – will ever know the whole truth." Melissa glanced to Sherlock, who'd been looking at something in his hands quite intently the entire time he'd been in the facility. "As far as everyone else is concerned, going to the Prime Minister and way beyond, Charles Augustus..." Mycroft followed Melissa's gaze to Sherlock, glaring down at his brother. "Are you tweeting?"

Sherlock covered his phone. "No."

"Well, that's what it looks like."

"Of course I'm not tweeting. Why would I be tweeting?"

"Give me that." Mycroft stepped closer, reaching for the phone."

"What? No. Get off. What are you doing?" Mycroft attempted to pull the phone from his little brother's hands. "Get off. What..."

"Give it here." Mycroft managed to yank the phone from his hands, looking at the screen with exasperation. "'Back on terra firma'."

Sherlock made a face. "Don't read them out."

"'Free as a bird'."

"God, you're such a spoilsport."

Mycroft sighed. "Will you take this matter seriously, Sherlock?"

"I am taking it seriously. What makes you think I'm not taking it seriously?"

He glanced at the phone again. "Hashtag 'OhWhatABeautifulMorning'." Melissa snorted at that.

Sherlock made a face. "Look, not so long ago I was on a mission that meant Certain death – my death – and now I'm back, in a nice warm office with my big brother and...are those ginger nuts?" he surged forward, jumping to his feet to get to the plate.

Mycroft sighed again. "Oh, God."

"Love ginger nuts." Sherlock grabbed a handful of the biscuits.

Smallwood frowned at him. "Our doctor said you were clean."

"I am, utterly." He turned back to Mycroft. "No need for stimulants now, remember? I have work to do." He took a bite."

"You're high as a kite!"

Sherlock turned to Edwin. "Natural high, I assure you. Totally natural. I'm just..." he spread his arms wide, singing the next phrase "glad to be alive!" he laughed to himself. "What shall we do next?" he pointed at the secretary. "What's your name?"

"Vi-Vivian."

"What would you do, Vivian?"

"Pardon?"

"Well, it's a lovely day. Go for a stroll?" Smallwood shook her head, Edwin put a hand on his face, Mycroft looked exasperated, but Melissa just continued to twist her pen. "Make a paper airplane? Have an ice lolly?" he took another bite of his biscuits.

"Ice lolly, I suppose."

"Ice lolly it is! What's your favorite?"

Vivian glanced at the other people in the room. "Well, really, I shouldn't..."

Sherlock gestured for her to continue. "Go on."

"Do they still do Mivvis?"

"Mr. Holmes," Melissa said, enjoying the way both brothers looked at her and said "yes?" in unison - though Mycroft did give her a look for it. "As much as I've been enjoying this...wonderful display, I do think my colleagues" Sherlock bristled at the term "would prefer if we got on with it all...and I'm extremely curious about what you've decided to do to solve the whole Sherlock-shot-someone-in-the-head issue."

Mycroft nodded. "Yes, of course." He used a remote to restart the video footage that'd been paused on the large screens around them.

It was the scene surrounding Magnussen's death. The first run-through showed the event as it had actually occurred, with Sherlock shooting him. But, after a few alterations, two dots appeared on Magnussen's face and Sherlock never lifted his arm, making the man appear perfectly innocent of the murder.

Quite clever.

"I see," Sherlock said, waiting until the final version of the footage had stopped. "Who is supposed to have shot him, then?"

"Some over-eager squaddie with an itchy trigger finger, that's who," Edwin said.

"That's not what happened at all." Sherlock took another bite.

"It is now."

Smallwood shook her head. "Remarkable. How did you do it?"

"We have some very talented people working here. If James Moriarty..."

"Someone acting as James Moriarty," Melissa corrected, pointing the pen at Edwin.

"If someone acting as James Moriarty can hack every TV screen in the land, rest assured we have the tech to...er...doctor a bit of security footage." He gestured at the screens as he spoke. "That is now the official version; the version anyone we want to will see."

"No need to go to the trouble of getting some sort of official pardon," Smallwood said. "You're off the hook, Mr. Holmes. You're home and dry."

Mycroft crossed his arms as he looked down at his little brother. "Okay, cheers." Sherlock shoved more biscuit into his mouth and jumped up from his seat, buttoning his jacket.

"There's still a bit of unfinished business, baby Holmes," Melissa called, making him pause. "Moriarty." Mycroft shot her a look and even Smallwood looked at her...though that may have been for the 'baby Holmes'.

Only Mycroft and Sherlock knew that Melissa was Moriarty's twin.

"I told you." Sherlock's mouth was full of biscuit, but he looked to Melissa, holding her gaze. "Moriarty's dead."

"You say he filmed that video message before he died," Smallwood said.

"Yes."

"You also say you know what he's going to do next. What does that mean?"

"Perhaps that's all there is to it." Edwin pointed to Sherlock. "Perhaps he was just trying to frighten you."

"No, no, he would never be that disappointing." Sherlock finally looked away from Melissa, looking into the distance. "He's planned something; something long-term, something that would take effect if he never made it off that rooftop alive. Posthumous revenge. No. Better than that. Posthumous game."

"We brought you back to deal with this. What are you going to do?"

"Wait."

Smallwood blinked. "Wait?"

"Of course wait. I'm the target. Targets wait. Look – whatever's coming, whatever he's lined up, I'll know when it begins." He started to walk towards the door, finishing putting on his coat. "I always know when the game is on. D'you know why?"

"Why?"

Sherlock turned to the table again. "Because I love it."

~M~

When Mary and John's daughter was born, Melissa sent a gift but didn't go to visit. She'd never been a particular fan of babies or children, a fact which did occasionally make its way into the papers since, after all, all women were expected to want to be a mother and the fact she didn't was apparently a source of shock.

Melissa didn't really care what the public thought about her refusal of motherhood.

Since Sherlock had decided not to actively go looking for the source of her brother's reappearance, Mycroft was under no sort of pressure to have her arrested. She was sent out by the government to use her connections to attempt to determine who could possibly be responsible, but Melissa didn't really put much effort into it.

She knew who was responsible.

After all, a certain hidden little sister who the government used to solve long division had once told her the plan that she and Jim had concocted.

Melissa couldn't confirm it, but she was pretty damn certain that Eurus was responsible...which didn't mean she was going to tell anyone.

Though, she did contact Sebastian for the first time since he'd escaped to ensure he wasn't, for a reason she couldn't comprehend, continuing some aspect of Jim's game for Sherlock years after his death.

He arranged for them to meet in a London hotel room.

Melissa was waiting in it for him to arrive, sitting on the bed continuing to try and flex her right hand. She could hold things in it now, though feeling anything with it required a bit of focus and intention. After a year of attempting to fix it, Melissa was fairly certain that was as good as it was going to get.

Thankfully, the moment she'd originally injured it she'd adapted to just her left hand, so by now life progressed normally with only one hand as an option to use.

Sebastian entered the room slowly. Already, he looked remarkably better, life outside of captivity treating him well. "Melie..." he breathed. "You're not in custody."

"Thankfully, Mycroft trusted me enough when I said I wasn't responsible for Jim reappearing." She smirked. "After all, I can count on one hand who knows that I'm Jim's sister. Which is quite convenient, since I can only count on one." She looked him over. "You look remarkably well for someone who's currently in hiding from the British government."

"I have spent the majority of my life in hiding from the British government."

"Then you really shouldn't let an Ultra into the same hotel room as you." She leaned back, looking up at him. "Won't you come closer? It's been so long."

Sebastian did step forward, coming to his knees in front of her, matching heights. "I've missed you."

Melissa touched his cheek. "And I you." A pause. "Are you responsible for Jim reappearing?" Sebastian drew back. "I have to ask, Seb. Is there something you're not telling me?"

"No, Melissa. I had nothing to do with whatever's happening." He leaned forward again. "I promise."

"Good." Melissa kissed him, letting them fall backwards onto the bed she sat on.

This was good. This could be good.

Once upon a time, this was what Melissa had thought she'd wanted. A calm retreat from her tumultuous mind.

But not anymore.

It was good as a break, as a reprieve, as a pause, but Melissa needed more. She had to have more.

She had to win.

~M~

Despite what Sherlock had said, he was apparently looking for connections to Moriarty in any case he looked at. Melissa was summoned to Mycroft's office when he learned Sherlock would be coming over to discuss it, wanting her – the resident expert on all things Jim Moriarty – present to discredit or approve any theories Sherlock could come up with.

"Touched you trust me so much," she said, sitting on the edge of his desk.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking a seat."

Mycroft nodded towards his chairs. "I have some lovely chairs right there."

She shrugged. "Don't feel like any of them right now. I would like to sit here." Mycroft sighed. "Unless you have a different seat for me in mind."

He just sighed again. "You can be infuriating sometimes."

"Infuriating is my middle name."

"Quite a long middle name you're working with, then." Mycroft smirked. "Apparently your name is Melissa Anabel Difficult Infuriating Brook."

"Melissa Difficult Anabel Infuriating Brook; get it right, thank you very much."

"My apologies."

She crossed her legs, sitting quite primly for someone sitting on the desk of one of the most powerful men in the world. "Do you have a middle name?"

"Of course I do."

"After all, at least two of your siblings have extremely long names. William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Charlotte Evelina Lydia Holmes. Are Mycroft and Eurus one of your middle names too?"

"My full name is Ice Man Mycroft Holmes."

"You forgot one. Arrogant Prick must be in there."

Mycroft gave her a look that just made Melissa laugh.

To think that, the majority of the time they'd known each other, their only interactions had been colored by a distinct tension sourcing from the fact that they were both well aware that they were meant to hate each other. That their positions in life, the paths they'd decided to tread, were directly set against each other.

It had really only been once Jim had died, once he'd even started fulfilling his plan for Sherlock, that they'd gotten to know each other at all.

That they'd become friends. That they'd laugh together. That he'd let her into his home when she needed somewhere safe, that he gave her a job deep within the government, something he could probably be arrested for doing.

That he'd become something more than just her favorite Holmes sibling.

Melissa was glad it had changed. Part of her was sad that she'd lose it, in the end, after she'd tried – and succeeded – to kill Sherlock. That they'd never be able to laugh together again.

He wouldn't be able to forgive her for hurting his brother, she knew that for certain. She'd destroy whatever 'us' they'd been able to concoct over these years. He would hate her and he'd never actually hated her before.

What would it be like for Mycroft Holmes to hate her? Would she hate him too?

Part of her wanted to go through with her plan just to see what would happen. Just to see what it would be like to hate Mycroft or have him hate her. Just to see what a world would be like without Jim or Mycroft.

And part of her didn't want to risk it.

A pity her desire to win was far stronger.

"Sherlock's arrived," Mycroft said, shocking Melissa out of her thoughts. "Please be on your best behavior."

"I'm always on my best behavior, Mykie dear." He made a face. "What? According to Mary, your mother calls you Mike, but I don't like the sound of it. Mykie is much nicer. It's sweeter."

He closed his eyes. "Dear God."

The door opened, Sherlock apparently having been warned about Melissa's presence given the fact he didn't look overly shocked to see her there, though the fact she was sitting on Mycroft's desk clearly gave him pause.

"Figure out the mystery of the broken Thatcher bust yet?" Melissa asked him, smiling. "Because I'd quite like to know the answer myself."

"Look at this," Sherlock said, handing Mycroft his phone as he removed his coat. Melissa leaned back to see what he'd wanted to show his brother; it appeared to be the picture of a baby, John and Mary's if Melissa had to guess, given the child's recent arrival.

Mycroft glanced at the phone, seeming to be thinking about something completely unrelated to the picture before him. "I met her once."

"Thatcher?"

He nodded. "Rather arrogant, I thought."

"You thought that?"

Mycroft chuckled. "I know!" He held up Sherlock's phone. "Why am I looking at this?"

Sherlock, who'd been pacing this entire time, paused. "That's her. John and Mary's baby."

"Guessed that," Melissa commented.

Mycroft looked at the phone again, forcing a smile. "Looks very...fully functioning."

Sherlock frowned at him. "Is that really the best you can do?"

"Sorry. I've never been very good with them."

"Babies?"

He smiled. "Humans."

"You know, the more I get to know you, the more I find things remarkably similar about us, Mykie dear," Melissa told Mycroft.

"I could say the same about you." Sherlock scoffed. "Be mature, Sherlock."

"I thought you didn't have friends."

"I'm his one exception." Melissa smirked.

"Please don't encourage him."

Melissa turned to Mycroft. "Apologies, honey bee." He rolled his eyes. "Though, you really should be the one calling me that. Why don't you try it, since you absolutely refuse to call me by my actual name?"

"Or we could refocus on the current issue?"

"Far less fun." But both she and Mycroft returned their attention to Sherlock, which seemed to shock him slightly in the unison manner they did so.

He took his phone back from his brother, tucking it away. "Moriarty." He looked to Melissa. "Did he have any connection with Thatcher? Any interest in her?"

Melissa shook her head. "Never. He was never really interested in specific people, more concepts, ideas, or functions."

Mycroft leaned forward, flicking through a file on his desk. "In the last year of his life, James Moriarty was involved with four political assassinations, over seventy assorted robberies and terrorist attacks, including a chemical weapons factory in North Korea, and had latterly shown some interest in tracking down the Black Pearl of the Borgias."

"Oh, didn't know about the last one. Must have been a birthday present." Melissa looked at Mycroft. "Maybe I really should read that file. Wonder how much in there I could learn. You can bring it to my home later. Show me through the peculiars."

"That pearl is still missing, by the way," Mycroft told Sherlock, "in case you feel like applying yourself to something practical."

"It's a pearl. Get another one." Mycroft rolled his eyes at his brother. Sherlock looked to the side. "There's something important about this." A pause. "I'm sure. Maybe it's Moriarty. Maybe it's not. But something's coming."

Mycroft leaned forward, folding his hands on his desk. "Are you having a premonition, brother mine?"

Sherlock blinked and looked towards the two of them. "The world is woven from billions of lives, every strand crossing ever other. What we call premonition is just movement of the web. If you could attenuate to every strand of quivering data, the future would be entirely calculable, as inevitable as mathematics."

Mycroft smiled at something, seeming to remember it. "Appointment in Samarra."

"I'm sorry?" Melissa and Sherlock said in unison.

"The merchant who can't outrun Death. You always hated that story as a child. Less keen on predestination back then."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "I'm not sure I like it now." He picked up his coat again, beginning to shoulder it on.

"You wrote your own version, as I remember. Appointment in Sumatra. The merchant goes to a different city and is perfectly fine."

"Goodnight, Mycroft." Sherlock turned to the door.

"Then he becomes a pirate, for some reason."

"Keep me informed."

"Of what?"

Sherlock left the room. "Absolutely no idea."

Melissa stared at the door. Samarra or Sumatra? Winning or Mycroft?

Why did she have to choose? Why couldn't she have both? Why couldn't she be everything?

Once upon a time, Melissa had thought she was everything. She'd thought she could be everything. She thought she had everything.

And then Jim died.

And then, she had to make a choice.

And then, she had to pick a city.

"Well," Melissa said, turning back to Mycroft, "your little brother is interesting."

"You're one to talk."

"You're my exception, you know?"

Mycroft nodded. "I would assume so." He stood. "Did you really not know about Moriarty's interest in the Black Pearl?"

"There are many things I never knew about my brother." She uncrossed her legs, turning more so that they were facing each other directly, and stood. Mycroft didn't move back immediately, letting Melissa put a hand on his jacket, tucking her left fingers around his lapel. "I quite enjoy being your exception."

He smirked. "That's not going to keep you from having to pay back your favors."

"Yes, when are you going to start attempting to get what you're owed?"

"All in good time, Melissa."

"I do love it when you say my name." That wasn't a lie, Melissa knew that for certain. It didn't feel like when Magnussen had, as though he was wielding it like the weapon of power it was. As though he was using it like Melissa used names.

It felt like he enjoyed saying it. Like the way Mycroft had started to become for her.

 **A/N: Melissa's really starting to realize how much Mycroft means to her. Pity that winning is just so much more fun ;)**


	13. Love

**Love**

It was Sebastian who contacted Melissa to tell her that Mary had attempted to vanish, traveling the world in a random path to cover her tracks from the person attempting to kill her for betraying their secret agent group, AGRA.

It appeared that Melissa had been correct, that Sebastian and Mary – or Rosamund, as was her real name – had at least known of each other. After all, Mary had been an active agent only about six years previous, when the empire was still going strong and Sebastian was still able to fuck both twins without the other knowing.

An exciting time for everyone, it appeared.

But Mycroft still summoned Melissa to his office to ask how much she knew about AGRA – he knew all about them, of course, and exactly who Mary had been from the start. She was surprised he'd never bothered to do that before, especially after she and Mary had had lunch together.

Melissa did regret that they hadn't had the chance to do that again since Jim's face had appeared all over London. She'd gotten distracted with attempting to determine who was responsible if not a certain little sister, and Mary had had a baby.

All rather exciting.

She wasn't there when Sherlock came to meet with his brother that time, but Mycroft did share the little information that Sherlock had so far been able to determine.

Apparently, at the Tbilisi incident, there was a specific code word. Ammo.

Sherlock wanted Mycroft to look into it for Mary's protection. Which essentially meant that Mycroft just asked Melissa if she had any hunches.

She sat with her eyes closed, processing the word, processing everything she knew about the Tbilisi incident.

It had been quite an embarrassment for the British government among the few in the know, and there were very few. Melissa and her brother were among the only people in the world to know exactly what had gone horribly wrong that day.

"Quite a direct code word, isn't it?" she said, not opening her eyes. "Ammo. Bit difficult to slip into conversation. Had to be chosen for a reason."

"Do you know said reason?"

"If I did, Mycroft Holmes, I would have told you." She opened her eyes. "I do quite like Mary Watson. I'd prefer it if she weren't shot." She stood. "I'll let you know if I think of anything." Mycroft nodded, and Melissa left.

One thing Melissa knew about AGRA, from what she'd understood from when Jim had been alive and what she'd looked into now that she had access to the government's records, was that Smallwood had been in charge.

Smallwood – code name, Love – had overseen every assignment. Jim had been surprised when she'd kept her job after the whole thing went sour; after all, someone had to have betrayed AGRA.

Apparently, no one had thought it was Smallwood.

~M~

Ammo. Ammo. Ammo.

Melissa had to admit. It was an infuriatingly annoying mystery.

Such a simple word had led to such a great disaster.

Such a simple word had led to the birth of Mary Elizabeth Morstan. To the meeting of Mary and John. To their little baby Rosamund.

So much power in one word. So much power in a sequence of letters, a sequence of numbers.

So much power in a code word that could summon assassins or call them off.

So much power in Sherlock Holmes, who was such a simple man.

Ammo. Ammo. Ammo.

Amo.

Amas.

Amat.

Latin.

I love.

Love.

Melissa smirked. Apparently, it had been Smallwood after all.

Her phone went off then and, when Melissa glanced at it, she smiled. Apparently, Sherlock and Mycroft had made the connection at the same moment as her.

 _Love's protocols rescinded. Will send update with results of questioning._

She really did have to refresh her Latin, though, after all, Melissa had never claimed to be a deductive genius. She never claimed to have a hard drive for a brain. She never claimed a Mind Palace.

She was just clever.

She was just everything.

~M~

Melissa stared at the gun in her hand and wondered if this was what Seamus had felt like because that little brother had put far more thought into his suicide than her twin.

If he'd realized that his two siblings, the two bits of family he'd had left in the world, had been lying to him his entire life, stood, took his gun, and looked at it.

If he'd considered it before then.

If some nights he'd take out the gun just to practice the motion, just to ensure that he'd do it right when the time came.

If he'd pictured what it'd be like to have his brains spilling out the back of his head.

If he'd thought there was something else afterward.

If he'd thought she'd miss him.

Melissa stared at the gun and wondered if anyone would.

She'd done this before, even before Jim had gone to that rooftop. Melissa had never been overly violent, never hit or screamed or stabbed.

But she'd shot guns. She'd liked guns. She'd liked their smell and the way they felt in her hand and the way they were just so quick.

One shot to the head and you were dead.

No question about it.

When she'd been young, when her father had died, Melissa had wondered about death. She'd wondered how much it hurt. How alone you felt.

How quick it was.

If it was worth it.

When she'd been sixteen, Melissa hadn't had a gun. She hadn't even shot one before by that point. She supposed that was really what she'd dreamed of then. Not death, at least not her own. Just the gun.

Any gun.

Any power.

Her father's death wasn't the first time Melissa had encountered death, of course. Three years earlier Carl Powers had died from poison in his medication. But it was the first time it struck Melissa. The first time it really occurred to her that, if she wanted, everything could just stop.

But back then, she'd had Jim. Back then, she thought she'd always have him.

Now, she didn't.

It would be so easy if she just did it now. If she ended it now.

She wouldn't have to lose Mycroft if she ended it now.

But Sherlock would never have to pay.

Melissa put down the gun.

For now.

Her phone rang with Mycroft's specific ringtone. "Hello, Mykie."

"Mary is dead."

Melissa closed her eyes. "What happened?"

"The secretary was Amo. She shot at Sherlock. Mary got in the way."

Of course.

Of course Sherlock was responsible for Mary's death.

And so close to her birthday.

~M~

That time, when Melissa attempted to contact Sebastian, she received no response. She thought it was strange, though she knew that the man was in hiding and she was a government employee and it really wasn't wise for them to be in contact at all, let alone see each other.

But Melissa had just lost Mary, a woman she'd wanted to get to know, a woman who'd had the potential to join Mycroft on Melissa's extremely small list of friends. She wanted Sebastian.

It seemed she only really wanted him when she couldn't have him.

And Melissa couldn't contact Mycroft to get anyone's help in finding him, as she wasn't supposed to be in any sort of contact with Sebastian. She couldn't use any of the countless resources at her disposal to find him, to force him to come see her.

She just had to wait for him to come to her.

And Melissa had the feeling that she'd be waiting for a very long time.

She didn't end up returning to her home often after that, not that she spent much time there anyways. Most of her life was filled with social events, running her restaurants, and helping the British government manage various terrorist and global threats.

When Mary had died, Mycroft had just started to permit Melissa to stay out of his sight for extended periods of time in social events. He hadn't seemed to want to risk it so soon after her brother's face had appeared on every screen, even if he trusted that she wasn't responsible.

But upon Mary's death, Mycroft requested that Melissa stay by his side whenever she could, though she was always far nicer company to whichever foreign dignitary or politician they were speaking to – the blessing of being an attractive woman.

She had the distinct sense that it was because Mycroft was worried for her. After all, on the year anniversary of her twin's death, she'd told him that she'd come to him because she hadn't wanted to be alone. Because she'd been worried what she would do.

She was touched by the fact he was that concerned.

That evening, Mycroft had been dragged off to talk to the prime minister, leaving Melissa to wander the reception, socializing as she was spotted by certain people. Given the fact that she and Mycroft kept appearing at social functions together, there was a bit of a rumor surrounding them that they were actually a couple, which Melissa enjoyed perpetuating.

From what she could tell, even Mycroft never actually denied it whenever someone was brave enough to bring it up to him. As though he knew it amused her and wanted to give her a bit of fun, which she didn't put past him.

Melissa had just finished a glass of champagne when Mycroft caught her eye across the room, him holding his phone. She followed him into a separate room, where a man, who looked incredibly nervous to be standing before both Mycroft Holmes and Melissa Brook, was waiting. "What's this about?" she asked Mycroft.

"Sherlock has left his flat."

After Mary's death, Sherlock had stayed locked within his flat ever since, not contacting anyone. Mycroft, the concerned older brother he was, had always had people watching his brother's flat, so he was informed of anything strange happening.

"Please don't leave me with the prime minister."

Mycroft smiled.

~M~

The pair walked into the surveillance room in unison, finding Smallwood, returned to her original position upon the discovery of her secretary's guilt, watching the screens. She glanced at them, Mycroft in particular. "We can keep tabs. You didn't have to come in."

"I was talking to the prime minister."

Smallwood nodded. "Oh, I see." Then to Melissa.

"I refused to let him leave me there alone," she said, turning to look at the screens.

"What's he doing?" Mycroft frowned at a screen showing his brother walking along a road, apparently alone. "Why's he just wandering about like a fool?"

"She died, Mycroft. He's probably still in shock."

Mycroft's attention didn't waver from the screens. "Everybody dies. It's the one thing human beings can be relied upon to do. How can it still come as a surprise to people?"

"The deaths of loved ones are always a surprise, Mykie, particularly when it wasn't an accident." Melissa crossed her arms. "Not that you would know anything about that, seeing as all the people you've ever cared about are still alive."

"Melissa..."

"Oh, Mykie, don't talk dirty in public." She looked to the side. "Save that for the bedroom." She gave him a wink, which had Smallwood suppressing a snort.

"You really can be infuriating."

"My name isn't Melissa Difficult Anabel Infuriating Brook for nothing."

Mycroft sighed, taking out his phone and turning away to make the call.

"I have never understood the two of you," Smallwood commented, both women returning to watching the screens.

"I don't think either of us understands it either."

The map flashed as the agents traced Sherlock's current route on the map...and they all laughed. Melissa snorted.

"What is it?" Mycroft turned to look at her. "What – what now?"

"Sorry," one of the agents forced himself to stop laughing. "Um, traced his route on the map."

It appeared that Sherlock had walked a path through London that spelled out, quite clearly, 'FUCK OFF'.

"You know," Melissa commented, "he may have just become my favorite Holmes."

Mycroft sighed, both at her statement and his little brother. "Is he with someone?"

"No sure," the agent said. "We keep losing visual. Mostly we're tracking his phone."

"Sherlock has left his flat for the first time in a week, so I'm having him tracked," Mycroft said into the phone, seemingly finally connected to John. "Sherlock gone rogue is a legitimate security concern. The fact that I'm his brother changes absolutely nothing. It didn't the last time and I assure you it won't with..." but then Mycroft paused, exactly what he'd said registering "...with Sherlock." Mycroft swallowed as Melissa lifted her eyebrows. "Please phone me if he gets in contact. Thank you."

Smallwood glanced at Mycroft. "Do you still speak to Sherrinford?"

"I get regular updates."

"And?"

Mycroft put his phone away. "Sherrinford is secure." He turned to leave.

"Goodnight, Mykie," Melissa called after him.

Goodbye.

~M~

Melissa was in her office when her computer screen flashed with the face of a very particular man.

The wounded face of a particular man.

Sebastian.

Immediately, Melissa stiffened.

No.

A second later, a message.

 _We have him. Will be in contact again._

No. This wasn't possible. This couldn't be possible. This couldn't be happening.

"Are you alright?" Mycroft spoke from the door, but Melissa didn't look at him. She just stared at the computer screen.

They'd hacked into government computers just to contact her. Just to show her his face.

Melissa had never been blackmailed before. Magnussen had never done it; he'd never seemed to desire it. And now especially, she would have thought she was safe from that. She would have thought government servers would be some of the most heavily guarded places in the country, especially her's.

But they'd managed it. They'd got to her.

They'd got to Melissa Brook.

They had to know. Somehow, they had to have found out that she was Jim's sister. Why else would they bother with her specifically? There was no other reason to think she might do as they asked.

"What's wrong?" Mycroft's voice, which Melissa realized had been speaking in those past few seconds, jolted her. He was knelt before her, hands on her arms, seeming as though he'd been about to shake her. "What happened?"

"It's fine." She blinked. "I'm fine, Mycroft."

"What happened, Melissa?"

"I remembered something. That's all." She frowned at him. "That's all, Mycroft, I promise."

"What did you remember?"

"Not something I'm going to be telling you." Melissa touched his cheek. "Not today, anyway, Mycroft Holmes." He stared at her for a moment. "Now, why did you come to see me? Want one of those favors fulfilled?" She switched to touching his face with one of her nails. "My Mykie."

"You're going to go home and get some rest, Melissa." He frowned at her. "How long has it been since you've slept?"

"I took a nap earlier today."

"How long has it been since you've been home?"

She drew her hand away. "That has an entirely different answer."

He sighed. "Go home, Melissa. Please. You can't help anyone like this."

"Whoever said I wanted to help anyone?"

"Even he helped people."

She smirked. "He used people to reach his goal, as you well know. To make his web."

"And you?"

"Web making was never my forte."

Mycroft finally pulled back from her, standing straight. "Go home."

"You know, you giving orders is quite sexy. No wonder Smallwood had a crush on you."

He paused. "What?"

"Of course she did. Even while her husband was alive." Melissa stood. "Of course, my arrival and the rumors surrounding us have seemed to have dampened those feelings, but there is clearly some sexual attraction, at least on her part." She stepped forward, sliding her phone into her pocket as she did so. "Not from you, though. Is she your goldfish?"

"I've heard it isn't as good with normals."

"Curious about what it'd be like with people like us?" Close again, a hand on his lapel. A trap set. But for who? "Sadly, I'm not in the mood today." She stepped past him, feeling her phone go off again.

Something sunk in Melissa's chest as she took it out, glancing at it.

Another picture. Another message.

And a time limit.

She had a week to get them what they wanted, otherwise, they were going to cut off Sebastian's finger.

Melissa didn't think twice. It wasn't information that Mycroft had given her access too, just something that she and Jim had known.

It wasn't betrayal of him.

It wasn't losing him. Not yet.

 **A/N: Uh oh, Melissa's getting blackmailed. She's getting desperate.**

 **Just three chapters left ;)**


	14. From Beyond the Grave

**From Beyond the Grave**

The news that John had nearly beaten Sherlock to death was not something that overly surprised Melissa or Mycroft. After all, it was undeniable that Sherlock was responsible for Mary's death. Of course John would be angry.

That wasn't the thing that confused them. What did was the fact Sherlock seemed to have fixated on a man named Culverton Smith – a TV personality, Entrepreneur, and Philanthropist. Melissa had encountered him at galas before, but neither she nor Jim had ever seen anything intriguing in him, though the man was known for being an extremely creepy human being.

But there was nothing there for Sherlock to fixate upon.

There was nothing there to send Sherlock into drugs and danger.

As the agents searched Sherlock's flat, Mycroft took a seat in Sherlock's chair, putting his umbrella beside him. Melissa just perched herself on the back of Sherlock's chair. He'd called John on their way over, sending a car to pick up the man, and they'd sent someone looking for Mrs. Hudson.

For a few minutes, they waited patiently, but Mycroft quickly grew annoyed. "Where is she?" he asked one of the agents. "Where's Mrs. Hudson?"

"She'll be up in a moment."

John entered the flat, ducking under some of the string that Sherlock had strung around the place. "Uh, uh...what are you doing?"

"Have you noticed the kitchen?" Mycroft stood. "It's practically a meth lab. I'm trying to establish exactly what drove Sherlock off the rails."

Melissa gave John a wave, staying seated. "And I'm here because Mycroft didn't want to be alone among idiots."

"Any ideas?" Mycroft continued, giving her a small smile as he spoke.

John looked into the kitchen, watching the agents inside at work. "Are these spooks? Uh...are you using spooks now to look after your family?" he frowned as some agents put items into evidence bags. "Hang on – are they tidying?"

"Sherlock is a security concern. The fact that I'm his brother changes nothing."

"Yeah, you said that before."

Mycroft moved closer to the fireplace, casting a look over the mantle as he spoke. "Why fixate on Culverton Smith? He's had his obsessions before, of course, but this goes a bit further than setting a mantrap for Father Christmas." He shook his head. "Spending all night talking to a woman who wasn't even there."

John crossed his arms. "Mycroft, last time when we were on the phone..."

Mycroft screwed up his face, waving a hand. "No, no, no, no, stop. I detest conversation in the past tense."

John stepped closer. "You said the fact that you were his brother made no difference."

"It doesn't."

"You said it didn't the last time and it wouldn't with Sherlock, so who was it the last time? Who were you talking about?"

Melissa fixed Mycroft with a look, wondering what he'd do. They all knew he hadn't been discussing Lina, a woman who lived in London teaching music – at one point, Jim's plan had included her, but he'd changed his mind. She was perfectly innocent, perfectly normal. Perfectly unaware. Perfectly alive.

"Nobody. I...misspoke."

John frowned. "You're lying."

"I assure you I'm not."

John stared at Mycroft and then smiled. "Sherlock's not your only brother. There's another one, isn't there?"

"No."

But John still laughed. "Jesus! A secret brother! What, is he locked up in a tower or something?"

"Solving long division," Melissa mumbled, making Mycroft shoot her a look, but she just smiled.

They all turned to the door as Mrs. Hudson arrived. "Mycroft Holmes!" he sighed at her. "What are all these dreadful people doing in my house?"

"Mrs. Hudson, I apologize for the interruption. As you know, my brother has embarked on a program of self-destruction remarkable even by his standards, and I am endeavoring to find out what triggered it."

"And that's what you're all looking for?"

He nodded. "Quite so."

"What's on his mind?"

"So to speak."

"And you've had all this time?"

"Time being something of which we don't have an infinite supply..." he glanced at John "...so if we could be about our business?" Mycroft attempted to smile at Mrs. Hudson, but she just started to giggle.

"You are..." Mycroft frowned at John and Melissa, who'd swung her legs around so that she could rest her elbows on her knees, "...you're – you're so funny, you are!" Mrs. Hudson covered her mouth as she laughed.

"Mrs. Hudson?"

Mrs. Hudson gestured generally at John. "He thinks you're clever. Poor old Sherlock; always going on about you." She touched John's arm. "I mean, he knows you're an idiot, but that's okay 'cause you're a lovely doctor," she looked to Melissa, "and he always goes on about how clever you are, and you seem to be, I'll give him that, but you," she turned to Mycroft, "...but he has no idea what an idiot you are!"

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, why'd you never say this sooner?" Melissa grinned at her. "I had no idea you were so brilliant."

Mycroft frowned. "Is this merely stream-of-consciousness abuse, or are you attempting to make a point?"

"You want to know what's bothering Sherlock? Easiest thing in the world; anyone can do it."

"I know his thought processes better than any other human being, so please try to understand..."

But Mrs. Hudson interrupted him. "He's not about thinking, not Sherlock."

"Of course he is."

"No, no. He's more...emotional, isn't he?" Mrs. Hudson turned to the wall behind the sofa. "Unsolved case: shoot the wall." She mimed firing a gun at it. "Pew! Pew!" Turned towards the kitchen. "Unmade breakfast: karate the fridge!" she mimed a karate chop, turning to the mantelpiece. "Unanswered question..." she turned to John. "Well, what does he do with anything he can't answer, John, every time?"

John had looked towards the fireplace as she'd spoken. "He stabs it." He moved towards the fireplace as Mrs. Hudson turned to Mycroft and Melissa again.

"Anything he can't find the answer for..." Mrs. Hudson pointed two fingers at the mantel. "Bang!" John pulled a knife from an envelope, turning back around. "...it's up there. I keep telling him: if he was any good as a detective, I wouldn't need a new mantel."

John pulled out a white DVD with 'MISS ME?' written on it, the sight of which had Mycroft and Melissa straightening. He bent, putting the DVD into the television in the corner of the room. All of the agents had paused as Mrs. Hudson spoke, the majority of them moving to watch the screen too.

Even Melissa stood, coming to stand beside Mycroft, who had a hand to the side of his face.

But it wasn't what anything of them expected.

It was Mary.

"If you're watching this, I'm...probably dead."

John backed away, holding out a hand. "Okay, no. S-stop that now, please." He turned away, getting as far away from the television as possible.

Mrs. Hudson paused it, standing. "Everybody out, now. All of you." No one moved, John turning the window. "This is my house..." she gestured to John "...this is my friend..." pointed at the television "...and that's his departed wife. Anyone who stays here a minute longer is admitting to me personally they do not have a single spark of human decency."

There was a moment of pause before all of the agents left the room. It took Melissa a moment longer, but she did step towards the door, pausing as Mycroft didn't move.

Melissa didn't know if she actually had human decency, but she did have the smallest sympathy for a man whose wife had just died because she'd sacrificed herself for Sherlock Holmes. Because Sherlock was responsible for her death. Melissa knew quite well how it felt to have someone you love kill themselves because of the consulting detective.

Mrs. Hudson walked close to Mycroft, leaning even closer. "Get out of my house, you reptile."

Mycroft blinked, startled, but Mrs. Hudson just gestured at the door with the remote. It was another moment before Mycroft unfolded his arms, grabbed his umbrella, and joined Melissa at the door.

They said nothing to each other, but Melissa's phone went off again. She didn't look at it, not yet, but she knew who it was.

She knew what they wanted.

~M~

Melissa was wrong. She hadn't known what they wanted.

They wanted something that could only be found on Mycroft's government laptop.

They wanted her to give them something that Mycroft would know she did.

After all, who else would be able to access it? Who else was able to waltz into his office and look wherever they wanted? Who else would get even remotely close to determining the password?

Who else knew where his home was and exactly how to enter it undetected?

If she did it, Mycroft would know it was her. She would not only break the law to the point that Mycroft probably wouldn't be able to save her, but he also wouldn't want to. Because she would have betrayed him.

If she did this, she'd lose Mycroft.

But if she didn't, they were going to shoot Sebastian in the head.

They sent her a toe with a very specific tattoo to make it clear they were serious.

She had to pick.

Mycroft or Sebastian.

There was no guarantee that they'd release Sebastian if she gave them what they asked for, even though they said they would.

They'd promised they would.

They knew that she needed a real reason to betray Mycroft, real hope.

They knew her. Melissa hated them.

It was the day that Sherlock, John, and Mycroft traveled to Sherrinford that Melissa decided to do it. That she decided to enter his office, to look for the laptop, and then go to his home and search it.

She found it in his bedroom.

Melissa sat on his bed with the computer in her lap and took a breath.

She was going to do this.

She was going to lose Mycroft.

She was going to try and save Sebastian.

If she was being honest, just sitting around helping the British government had gotten boring. She was performing a similar role as she had for her brother, but that had had a completely different level of enjoyment. That had been fun, interesting, new. She got to have tea with murderers and blackmailers and get the smallest of glimpses into their minds.

She'd had Magnussen, for God's sake. She missed Magnussen in the way Melissa missed anyone. She wished she'd gotten to understand him more, that she'd gotten to get an even deeper look inside his head. That he'd gotten to teach her everything he knew, make her into someone like him. But he'd just died, and it had gotten boring.

But it hadn't.

And it had.

And Melissa didn't know what was true.

She didn't know which of the two was a lie. She didn't know when she was lying to herself.

Melissa opened the computer and logged in without question, not even bothering to wear gloves for her fingerprints.

Mycroft would know that she did this no matter what she did. He would know she was responsible.

~M~

"Red alert! Red alert! Big bad bouncy red alert! Klingons attacking lower decks! Also, cowboys in black hats, and Darth Vader! Don't be alarmed! I'm here now! I'm here now! Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Miss me? Miss me? Miss me? Miss me?"

"Miss me?"

"Hello. My name's Jim Moriarty. Welcome...to the final problem."

"If you don't mind, please say hello to some very old friends of ours."

"Clever Eurus! You go, girl!...Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock...tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tock...tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick...tock-tock-tock-tock-tock-tock-tock-tick-tick-tick...come on now! Aaaaall aboard! Choo-choo! Choo-choo!...Fasten your seatbelts! It's gonna be a bumpy night."

"Mind the gap...the train has left the station."

"Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tick...tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tick...tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tick-tick-tick...tick-tock, tickets please!...tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick..."

Stop.

"This is my fault." Mycroft turned his eyes to Sherlock. "Moriarty?"

His little brother frowned, gun in hand. "Moriarty?"

"And Brook. Her Christmas treats: five minutes' conversation with Jim Moriarty five years ago and five minutes' conversation with Melissa Brook three years ago."

"What did they discuss?"

"Five minutes' conversation..." Sherlock lowered the pistol slightly, anticipating his brother, knowing his brother, and Mycroft shrugged, "...unsupervised." John was incredibly stunned at that, stumbling back. Sherlock just lifted the pistol again. "Goodbye, brother mine. No flowers..." he put his hands behind his back "...by request."

Eurus's eyes were wide behind them. "Jim Moriarty thought you'd make this choice. He was so excited."

Jim's face flashed on the screen again, the room going red. "And here we are, at the end of the line. Holmes killing Holmes. This is where I get off." He grinned, and he was gone, Eurus back.

"Melissa Brook less so. She really seemed to like you, Mycroft. Pity she's just sold all the government secrets she could get her hands on in a futile attempt to get her assassin lover back." Eurus shrugged. "Though, she did want a Holmes boy dead. You're just killing the wrong one. Technicality."

~M~

Once all the business with Eurus and Sherrinford and telling their parents that Eurus was still alive, Mycroft set about confirming what Eurus had said about Melissa.

Because Melissa had recorded a few short clips for Eurus's plan. Not nearly as many as her brother, but she was there. She was taunting him.

And Melissa had gone missing. He'd returned from Sherrinford to discover that no one, not a single government agent, could locate Melissa Brook. That alone had made his heart sink, but then he heard word of a foreign criminal agent with information that could have only been found on his private government computer.

When he looked on his security film, he saw her walking through his house. He didn't see how she entered or exited, but he saw her walking through his home.

She went straight to his bedroom. She'd known where the computer would be. She'd known him.

She'd betrayed him.

And he couldn't just let her get away with it this time because other people had been impacted by the knowledge getting out. Because other people could point it back to him, other people could point it back to the fact that Melissa had gone missing.

But that wasn't just it. It was bad enough that she'd seriously broken the law by giving out secret intelligence. Melissa Brook was a powerful woman. She'd always been, even before Mycroft had let her deep within the government.

Now, she knew everything.

Now, she was dangerous.

Now, Mycroft was back at 221B.

Sherlock wasn't happy to see him, but thankfully John and Rosie weren't there. His brother was sitting in his chair and Mycroft, as any other client, took his.

"What is it this time, brother mine?" Sherlock asked him, steepling his fingers. "Do we have another sibling you've been hiding my entire life?"

Mycroft didn't smile. "Sadly, that is not what I've come to discuss with you today. I've come to discuss Melissa Brook."

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow. "Did you two have a lover's tiff? Or a quarrel?"

"I'm being serious." Mycroft shifted in his chair. "She's gone missing. After...leaking classified information. It is necessary she's found as quickly as possible."

"You don't trust your agents' ability to track her down themselves?"

He leaned forward. "Melissa Brook gone rogue is possibly the deadliest threat to the British government there has ever been. She is the most dangerous woman in the world. And we need all the help we can get to find her." None of it a lie.

He'd trusted her. She'd known he'd trusted her. She'd always been the most dangerous woman in the world, even before he'd let her deep into the government, but he'd trusted that she wouldn't do anything.

He'd trusted her.

Sherlock said nothing for a time, staring his brother down. "You've made quite a few mistakes recently, brother mine."

"Don't worry." Mycroft swallowed. "I am well aware."

~M~

"What a situation you've found yourself in, sweet sister."

Melissa didn't open her eyes.

"Such a peculiar predicament."

"Shut up."

"Why are you ignoring me? Don't ignore me, Melissa. You can't ignore me."

"Yes, I can."

"You can never ignore me." She opened her eyes. Jim – not Jim, Melissa knew it wasn't Jim, not really – was sitting on the other end of the bed. Dressed like he was on the day he died. "There we go! Haven't you missed me? I've certainly missed you."

"Shut up."

He pouted. "That's incredibly rude. Don't be rude to me. I'm your brother."

"You're not my brother."

"Oh, come now, that's no way to approach this situation. Why don't we start again?" A blink and Jim was closer, the middle of the bed. "Haven't you missed me, Melissa? It's been four years. Far too long for the two of us."

"You're dead."

He rolled his neck. "Of course I'm dead, sweet sister. Shot myself in the head, didn't I? You should try it. So refreshing."

Melissa had a gun. She never put it down if she could help it, just in case someone found her. Just in case she needed to defend herself.

Just in case she wanted to die.

"Death is the ultimate victory, after all."

"For who?"

Jim smirked. "You've always been so clever, haven't you, Melissa? Even as children. Always so clever."

"So were you."

A blink and Jim had become them as children. Become six-year-old twins still dressed in matching clothes because their mother thought they still looked close enough to sell the illusion. Twins who spoke in unison whenever they could, who were never more than a few steps from each other.

Who stayed together against the rest of the world.

The young them said nothing, just stared.

Another blink and they were Jim again, but now he had blood on his suit, now he'd shot himself, now he really was dead.

"Don't you want to be with me, Melissa? Don't you want to not be alone?"

"I'm fine with being alone."

"You could never lie to me, Melissa, you know that. You're alone right now. Completely and entirely."

He was right.

Because the people who held Sebastian hadn't contacted Melissa again. Because she could never be trusted by Mycroft again. Because Mary, Seamus, and Magnussen were dead. Because Jim was dead.

If you'd asked Melissa before, she would have said she wanted to be alone. That she preferred being alone. But she'd quickly determined that that was wrong.

Melissa had never been alone before. She didn't like it.

~M~

There were a few times where they'd been extremely close at catching Melissa. The majority of the British government and any foreign government they could convince were looking for her. But Mycroft was quickly understanding that no one would be able to find Melissa Brook unless she wanted to be found.

And, right now, she didn't. She just wanted to taunt. She just wanted to get their hopes up. She just wanted to lay a trap.

Despite what Mycroft had concluded, he still had governments searching for her. He still tried to make it impossible for Melissa to escape.

He didn't want to find her because of some deeply rooted compassion that he felt for the sister of a madman – at least, that's what he tried to tell himself and others. He wanted to find her because she was dangerous, because there was a reason the government had allowed her so deep into its ranks.

Melissa was powerful. She was powerful and she was smarter than most other people on the planet. She couldn't use any of the contacts that she'd used while working for the government, as they were watching all those, but he had no doubt that she'd always had others she'd never talked about. Others she'd never cared to share. Others that they had no knowledge of that she could track down and enlist the aid of.

And Mycroft could do nothing. He didn't know if he wanted to. He didn't know if he should.

Once, she'd been a friend. An ally. An us against a world of goldfish. But never again.

Melissa Brook had betrayed him, had cut herself out of his small circle of compassion.

Melissa had been right, Mycroft had never lost anyone he'd really cared about. He'd never understood what loss felt like, what true grief could do to a person. And he wasn't saying that what he felt now was anything like what Melissa had felt upon the deaths of her brothers, Magnussen, or Mary, but Mycroft believed he was experiencing the smallest glimpse into her world.

In some small way, he was understanding what it was like to be Melissa Brook.

Mycroft could only hope that they found Melissa before she killed herself because he was well aware of how high of a possibility it was. He'd seen the signs ever since she'd appeared in his office three years previous. They weren't the traditional ones, nothing a normal would exhibit when suicidal.

After all, Melissa Brook wasn't a normal. She was him.

Mycroft had looked into her eyes countless times and been worried about what he'd seen looking back. About the isolation, the attachment, the underlying foolish self-sacrificing.

About the fact that, by doing what she'd done, Melissa had separated herself from perhaps the last person left in the world who'd given her any sort of affection.

Mycroft wanted to save her, but he knew he could never trust her again.

Wanting to save her might not be enough for Melissa.

No, he knew it wasn't.

He just needed to find her.

When June arose, Mycroft got even more worried. Melissa had gone quiet recently, no one anywhere in the world able to see any sign of her. He had no way of knowing if she was alive.

No way, except Sherlock, who told Mycroft that he was certain Melissa was still alive. That the triggers, the markers, showed every indication that Melissa Brook was still wandering the world.

Part of Mycroft felt guilty for feeling thankful.

 **A/N: Uh oh, what has Melissa done...**


	15. Do it

**Do it**

When June started, Melissa re-entered London. It was risky, being so close to the heart of the government, but it was almost time.

Melissa was almost going to kill Sherlock. She needed to be ready.

Because it was time. She knew it was.

For the longest time, Melissa had known that Sherlock was responsible, that he was guilty, that he deserved to die for what he'd taken from her, but she'd done nothing for it. She'd thought it and hoped and cursed anything that had threatened his life before she could take it herself, but she hadn't done anything.

Now, Melissa had decided it was time. She was tired of waiting.

She had nothing else to live for. If she succeeded or failed, Melissa wasn't leaving that place alive. She'd decided that.

Jim had decided that.

If she was being honest, if she looked back in her memories, she could see him on the edge of her thoughts ever since he'd died. Appearing in reflections, hiding in shadows. Just waiting until she was completely alone.

When she'd had Mycroft, Melissa hadn't wanted to risk losing him. She'd wanted his brother dead, but she hadn't wanted to do anything that would jeopardize her relationship with him. But then she'd lost Mycroft, then she'd cut herself from him by her own foolishness.

Melissa wasn't foolish enough to think that, if she apologized, she'd be welcomed back exactly as she'd left. That Mycroft would forgive and forget. She knew that wouldn't happen.

She knew that no matter what she did now, there was no getting Mycroft Holmes back.

She'd known that the moment she'd taken the information from him.

She'd done it knowing that it wouldn't save Sebastian. That there was no reason for them to release him even after she stopped being able to give them things. Even if they didn't keep him or kill him, they could sell him to countless countries. She'd known that betraying Mycroft wouldn't have gotten her Sebastian back.

But she'd done it anyway.

He'd been too good for her, after all. She'd known that from the start.

After all, just as Jim had said, Sherlock and Mycroft were the good guys. The heroes of the fairy tales. The angels, the cat, the protagonists, the POV. The ones the audience would root for.

And her and Jim?

"We're the bad guys, sweet sister," he'd hissed in her ear, sitting at her side, a map of London before them. "The demons. The mouse. The antagonists." He'd smirked, leaning closer. "After all, every fairytale needs a good old fashioned villain."

Melissa was a villain. She'd always been a villain. She'd always been Jim Moriarty's twin sister.

Being Mycroft's friend, being Honey, had only been a façade, Melissa could see that now.

Or, at least, she thought she could, because Melissa didn't know which of the sides was a lie. She didn't know which part of her was real.

She'd never known. It was always what had made her such a beautiful liar.

A lie only works if the liar believes it's true.

That was why it had all felt so real.

On June 12th, Melissa's fortieth birthday – the sixth anniversary of Jim's death, the third of Seamus's, the first of Mary's – she sent word for Sherlock Holmes.

She knew he'd bring his brother too or at least send word to the man.

But Melissa had always been a good shot. If she wanted something or someone shot, she would hit them.

Multiple times. Just to be sure.

She waited for him on the roof. Not the roof that Jim had shot himself on, but the roof of the set of apartments Seamus had once lived in. The roof of the building her little brother had died in.

When Sherlock first arrived, he was alone. "Hello, Melissa."

She was holding the gun loosely in her left hand. For the first time in a long time, she was completely motionless. "Hello, Sherlock."

"According to Eurus, you want to kill me."

Melissa shrugged. "What else would you expect from me?" she adjusted the gun in her hand. "I am going to shoot you, Sherlock Holmes. I am going to watch you die. Just like you did to Jim. And Magnussen. And Mary." She couldn't include Seamus because Sherlock hadn't been there. But it had been his fault.

"Will it do anything if I apologize?"

"It won't bring them back." Melissa lifted the gun, readying it at his head. "Nothing you or I do will ever bring them back to me."

"Don't." That voice was not the one that Melissa wanted to hear in that moment. Not yet. Not now. Melissa didn't want to be reminded of Mycroft. "Don't, Melissa, please." He appeared beside his brother, he appeared in front of his brother.

Melissa couldn't shoot him. It took her a moment before she realized her hand was shaking.

She'd never hesitated killing anyone before. She'd never cared.

"Do it." Jim was at her ear, and then he was at Mycroft's side, but Melissa couldn't pay him any attention because if she dared than they would come and she wouldn't have the chance. "Do it now, sweet sister. Now!"

"Sherlock, go," Mycroft hissed. Part of Melissa had the impression that he'd told his brother not to come to the roof at all, but Sherlock had disobeyed as little brothers did. "Now!"

Mycroft and Jim said that in unison.

For once, Sherlock obeyed, but Melissa didn't lower her gun. Mycroft stepped forward, arms raised. "Put down the gun. You owe me three favors, remember that. Put down the gun, Melissa."

"Goodbye, Mykie." Jim was over Mycroft's shoulder.

Melissa put the gun in her mouth and fired.


	16. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

There was quite an impressive turnout to Melissa Brook's funeral. After all, she'd been a well-known London socialite and restaurateur. People around the world knew her name.

People around the world mourned her.

But none of them matched Mycroft Holmes.

Though he didn't know if he could call it mourning.

He didn't attend her funeral, but he did visit her grave days later, after the crowds of curious people had left, returning to their normal lives. She'd been placed next to Seamus.

 _Melissa Anabel Brook_

 _12 June 1976 – 12 June 2016_

 _Beloved sister and friend_

He didn't bring her any flowers, of course. He'd known that she wouldn't want any. Just like him.

As it turned out, Melissa hadn't been personally running her restaurants for a year. There'd always been a committee behind the majority of it, but over the past year she'd been pushed more and more out. When she'd gone missing, they'd taken over entirely, though they hadn't told the public. Her restaurants did make quite a bit of money, after all. There was no reason that they shouldn't continue even after she was gone or when they'd thought her undedicated.

Even in death, Mycroft didn't tell anyone that Melissa was Moriarty's sister. Not many people even knew that she'd killed herself – the majority of the public thought it'd been an accident.

Sometimes, Mycroft wondered if it'd been an accident too. Sometimes he hoped it'd been an accident.

That Melissa hadn't gone onto that rooftop with the intent of killing herself.

He wondered if this was anything like what Melissa had felt when Jim had shot himself. If that moment when she'd pulled the trigger - when he'd lost her - had felt anything like when she'd lost Jim.

It had happened in slow motion for Mycroft.

She'd said goodbye, opened her mouth, and put the gun in. Pulled the trigger.

And was dead.

He'd watched her body fall to the roof. For the longest time, Mycroft was fairly certain he'd stopped breathing. There'd been a ringing in his ears that had taken quite a bit of time to go away.

But it was gone now. She was gone now.

Mycroft would never have Melissa back.

This was when Melissa had blamed Sherlock. This was when she'd looked back through her brother's life and been certain he hadn't wanted to leave her. When she'd decided that if not for Sherlock, Jim would have still been alive. Seamus would have still been alive. Maugnessen and Mary and ever person she'd ever claimed to care about would have still been alive. This was when she'd decided that he needed to die for what he'd done.

Mycroft didn't think the same way. Part of him didn't think Melissa really had either.

The only problem was that he'd never know. Even if Melissa hadn't died on that rooftop, he was fairly certain he'd never know because even she didn't.

She'd admitted to him, once, that she didn't know when she was lying to herself. It had been so long ago, around the time when she'd told him that she was the twin sister of Jim Moriarty. Around the time that she'd asked him about goldfish, about tolerating the small minded rest of the world.

She'd said it with a laugh, as though she didn't quite understand how serious of a statement it was. As though she wasn't being serious.

But Mycroft had always thought that, in that moment, Melissa Brook had been telling the truth.

There'd never been any hope of him understanding her if she couldn't even understand herself.

Even upon her death, there was no word from Sebastian Moran. Once she'd gone missing they had found evidence of her being blackmailed by people who had him captured. Some people had been sent to look for him, but they'd found nothing. They would keep looking for him even now – Moran was an asset – but Mycroft didn't want to be the person who told that man that Melissa had shot herself.

He didn't want to see the expression on Moran's face when he learned that. He was tired enough with his own.

Mycroft had always wondered if Melissa had really felt something for Moran. Sometimes, she'd seemed to. Other times, it seemed as though she didn't care about him at all. He supposed she'd never really known what she felt for the man either. Never really thought it would matter until it was too late.

But there were two things that Mycroft knew were undeniably true about Melissa Anabel Brook. Two things that she'd never lied about, to herself or others.

One: that she was the twin sister of Jim Moriarty.

And two: that she'd been Mycroft's friend.

 **A/N: And there we have it. Dead Can Dance is finished.**

 **Thank you so much to everyone who's decided to read this story over the weeks of posting. I know this story is odd and a bit out there and not everyone's cup of tea, but Melissa has become one of my favorite characters to write about so I'm happy to share her with you all.**

 **I will say, it's likely Melissa will be back, only not exactly in this form. I have an idea for a prequel/AU called that's a Mycroft/Melissa so, if any of you who've made it to this point are interested, please let me know. I'll probably write it anyways, but it may come quicker if just one other person lets me know they'd read it ;)**

 **I posted a timeline of this story on my fanfiction Tumblr if anyone is interested in seeing how I had it organized in my mind. Also posted there is a playlist I've been working on for this story and Melissa in general, so feel free to look at that too.**

 **Thank you again. I hope you enjoyed Melissa Anabel Brook as much as I did.**


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